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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

ifjap. .— Gtojujriglrt !§«. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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3 a y^oD reair * s - 



BY 



^X rdepi>es Topes * Tcoster 




READ 



Broken % 
^ Barriers. 



A POWERFUL ROMANCE 

BY 

Ardennes Jones-Foster. 



A love-story of the period ; pure, 
wholesome, fascinating. 

Second 10,000 now ready. The book is 
having an enormous sale. 



Broken Batn*iet*s, 

On Sale by all booksellers and at news 
stalls. 



BELGRAVIA COMPANY (Limited), 

128, Broadway, New York. 



ANNOUNCEMENT. 

"The Heart 

of A Jew. 



n 



His publishers beg to announce that 
Ardennes Jones ~ poster, Esq., has 
ready for early publication a novel written 
upon entirely new and original lines, en- 
titled 

"The Heart of a Jew." 

In previous works of this kind, unscru- 
pulous authors have taken occasion to scur- 
rilously malign the Hebrews, holding them 
up to cruel ridicule. 

In making the history of this sect a 
study, JVLi*. Jones^Foster has found so 
many sterling virtues allied with the Semitic 
race, that he has based his plot and created 
his personages in the light of the commend- 
able characteristics of the Children of 
Israel 

" THE HEART OF A JEW" will be sold 
at 50 cents per copy on all news stalls and 
by booksellers. 



BELGRAVIA COMPANY (Limited), 

128, Broadway, New York. 



DAY-DREAMS. 



(Revised, Second Edition). 



BY ARDENNES JONES-FOSTER, 

Author of "Broken Barriers," "The Heart of 
a few /" etc. 



1/01 \v 

1 



NEW YORK : 
IMPERIAL PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

165 and 167, Broadway, Room 30. 






Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

ARDENNES JONES-FOSTER, 

AND 

EDMUND DALTON COOPER. 

A U Rights Reserved. 



ADDRESS. 

88fcen tame tbtsr j&eberies, tabid) to mi babt 
brrn a labour of gobe, anb bom in fconvs tbat 3 
fcab« passeb in fonbest gag-gleams, it occurreb to 
me to sincerela inscribe tfcera to one of tfce most 
generous of noble toonun; sbt tobo abbeb toorbs of 
enronragement, anb bonoureb me mitb. fcer patronage 
at tfce time tfcat § most beeplg btsireb it : 'flu 
frienb of all earnest biseiples of t&e arts, 

Mrs. Frank Leslie. 



Day- Dreams. 




CONTENTS. 



Page 

Woman, i 

To-morrow, 2 

A Woman's Word of Honour, 3 

A .Maiden's Vision, ......... 36 

The Double Cross, 37 

A Woman's Judas Kiss, 59 

Sweet the Echo, 68 

Midnight in London, 69 

The Outcast, 77 

A Morning Storm at Sea, 78 

The Deserted Nest, 79 

Pablo de Sarasate 81 

Non-Equality, 82 

Mother-of- Vine gar Natures, 83 

An Actor's Scrap-Book, 84 

The Storm King, 90 

My Daisy, 91 

Lament of the Rose-bush, 92 

Stanley, 93 

Edna, 95 

Pamina, 95 

Till Min Kara Mia, 100 

Love at Sight, 100 

My Lost Gipsy, 101 

Bare Infatuation, 102 

Not Age — Not Death, 103 

Deluge of Conemaugh, 103 

Jefferson Davis, 106 

Entre Nous 108 

vi 



Woman. 

I regard a true woman as the best, the 
grandest, of all of God's human creatures ; 
a being of light ; immaculate in her chas- 
tity ; paragon in her purity ; and capable 
of ennobling the man of her liking. 
Whilst I pity the wife who is too selfish 
to aid in promoting the bent of her hus- 
band's ambition, I the more sincerely grieve 
for the man for having fallen into her wake. 
A woman's bad temper is as fatal to the 
heart's happiness as the clashing winds 
that blow up from the hot-beds of hell. 
The man has no alternative but to breathe 
the poison that lingers about the plague- 
spots of his blighted home. 

A woman's gentle spirit is an all- 
pervading virtue, whose influence softens 
the.spell, and fills our life-niche with its 
calm soul-fragrance. Her love-smile in- 
tensifies our joys, and leads us to forget 
the bickerings, the sins, the hard, angular 
elbowing of the vulgar crowd, the rush, 
the jealous, avaricious competition of a 
calloused world, and opens our eyes to the 
brighter, the better side of earth's para- 
dise. For woman is our angel of redemp- 



DAY-DREAMS. 



tion from an otherwise sorely barren, 
groveling masculine state. Such tribute do 
I pay to the memory of my mother. Why 
not, then, to all other high-minded women? 



To-morroto. 

Who stand upon the brink of witching time, 
Are nearest to to-morrow they will reach. 
To-morrow keeps her skirts from 'neath the 

scythe. 
Thou sanguine soul, cease plunging ! Lull thy 

hope, 
For never canst thou stand abreast with her. 
To-morrow, with her tempting golden Dawn, 
Still beckons us to dangle in her trail, 
But never halts, nor gives to us the race, 
But faster runs and taunts us with her laughs, 
And turns her saucy face, and quips and chaffs 
At sight of us who double for the prize. 
To-morrow is a vain, alluring flirt ! 
At midnight we a hand upon her lay, 
When Presto I like the skimming wind she flits 
Far off and to the next, and leaves us here, 
Like ninnies gasping for our slipping breath, 
And staring in the face of bold to-day I 



DAY-DREAMS. 



A Woman's Word of Honour. 



Chapter I. 

I will not say that I had scattered my 
wild oats. In fact, I never had lived at 
what the world chooses to call a fast pace, 
although I had seen thirty years of life 
and for the past ten years had been con- 
stantly on the move. 

It was not necessary that I should 
give myself to any vocation, as my estate 
near London, left to me by my father, let 
me into something like twenty thousand 
-a year. Snivins, my man of business 
made it his duty to see that I got it ; an 
undertaking for which I paid him, and 
paid him well. 

The theme of this tale embraces a 
most vital affair of the heart. For I hold 
that no matter how a person may chance 
to find himself lodged in the great battle 
of life, there is something wrong in the 
composition of the man, whose heart has 
never been touched with a pure passion of 
love for a woman. I would distrust his 
frozen nature, as I would the man who 
makes his boast that he has never rubbed 
against a sentiment in life that brought 
his heart to tears. 



DAY-DREAMS. 



I had traveled almost every mile of 
the earth, and seen everybody and every- 
thing worth seeing by the time that I was 
thirty. Upon that particular natal day, I 
found myself in Berne, Switzerland. No 
sooner had I arrived, than a letter was 
handed me. It came from my man of 
business, asking me to return to London 
at once, as Hodgson, my next-door neigh- 
bour had died and there remained some 
property matter to settle which needed my 
personal attention. 

It will be well to explain that 
Hodgson's daughter, Louise and I had 
been betrothed in infancy; a neat little 
bit of forethought and diplomacy upon 
the part of our parents (now all deceased), 
whose desire ran in the direction of per- 
petuating good blood, by uniting two of 
the oldest families in Kent. I am candid 
with the assertion that I had never felt 
any vehement interest in Miss Louise. 
Neither did my infatuation for her increase 
a3 we swept on through childhood's merry 
days, then past the time-posts of youth, 
into the longings and ambitions of bud- 
ding womanhood and manliness. To be 
sure, I held the girl in the highest respect 
and all of that sort of thing. And as I 
opened my eyes to future and greater pos- 
sibilities in life, I felt contented when 
quite out of her presence. I fancied, too, 



DAY-DREAMS. 



that her regard for me ran in about the 
same groove and equally as deep. Then 
came my series of tours and perambula- 
tions, with now and then a flying visit to 
the old homestead, where I always met 
Louise, quite as lukewarm as ever. She 
had traveled a bit, too, and, like myself, 
had seen many new faces. I was just in 
the act of replacing my agent's letter in 
its envelope, when, without the least cere- 
mony, in fact, with the most unbecoming 
and brutal persistency, a Swiss gendarme 
burst open my door and stared me bluntly 
in the face ; and as I arose to confront 
him, he called out : 

" You are Leopold Renard, of Geneva. 
I arrest you for the murder of a Swiss 
officer in the Canton of Berne, last night ! " 

I stood petrified like a rock. 

My blood grew hot and rushed 
through my veins. 

" I am not Leopold Renard I " I pro- 
tested. " I am Robert Toman, native and 
citizen of Englaud. You dare not detain 
me ! " and I bade him quit my apartment. 

His Swiss temper resented that which 
he considered the deepest sort of an insult, 
and the resistance of a public officer. He 
upbraided me for refusing to submit. 
Words brought on something worse, and 
.finally, he raised his weapon (I was un- 



DAY-DREAMS. 



armed) and dealt me a blow that shattered^ 
my hand. 

Thus crippled and done for, the gen- 
darme grinned at me, opened the door and 
called in two more of his kidney, and be- 
tween them they dragged me off to prison. 

It is needless to say that by the aid 
of the British Consul, I quickly established 
my identity and in short order was al- 
lowed to depart, to the crusty disappoint- 
ment of my over-obliging guest. 

The weather continued hot. Fever 
set in, and thirteen days passed before I 
began to realize where I was. The fever- 
had forced its way over me at the begin- 
ning, filling my wandering mind with the 
heavy hallucination of thirteen great, thick 
planks, which seemed to be bearing down 
upon my weak body, boarding me over 
from my neck to my toes. As the sun set 
each day, I fancied that one of the planks 
disappeared, and, beginning at my feet,.* 
they went away, until, upon the sunset 
hour of the thirteenth day, the last plank 
slipped into limitless space. I raised my 
arms from the covers and opened my eyes,. 
to find gazing into them one of the most 
strikingly beautiful creatures that I have 
ever met. She had nursed me through 
those thirteen days of danger ; and upon 
inquiry, she was not slow in telling me 
that I was at her father's inn, where the 



DAY-DREAMS. 



gendarme had first insisted upon getting 
satisfaction. 

This girl was not above one-and- 
t went y. Her eyes and hair were as black 
as night ; her complexion was the richest 
olive ; her teeth were white and beautiful. 
Her oval, regular features told me that 
she was of gentle birth. I had seen mil- 
lions of women, but never before, had the 
light of one's eyes shot into my soul as 
did the fire of hers. She was of French- 
Swiss blood and spoke the English tongue 
with a broken accent that was most charm* 
ing and fascinating. 



uon- 



Chapter II. 

A new world opened up to me the mo- 
ment that Madamoiselle Amelie Lucerne's 
bright eyes fastened their animated love- 
light upon mine. Daily, she gathered fresh, 
sweet flowers and placed them upon the 
little table before me. She read to me 
from the poets and the romances that she 
had learned to love. And in the soft twi- 
light, with her zither tuned to sweet 
melody, she would sing, soft and low, the 
Canton songs that she had loved in child- 
hood days; songs so sweet and tender, 
that their cadence comes back to me anew 



DAY-DREAMS. 



and sends my tears gushing through the 
mist of memory. And although I could 
not hear the notes of the song-birds, or 
wander out over the green, Canton sward, 
I half contentedly reasoned that I would be 
willing to forego all of the rivers of out- 
ward joy that run through the hearts of 
men and be satisfied with my fever-baked 
pillow, if but for the privilege of having 
the sun-light of that soul which seemingly 
had become a part of my own, and whose 
life appeared to be the other harmonious 
half of mine. 

Constant attendance upon me and a 
ready fulfilment of my every wish, had 
brought Amelie and me into close daily, 
almost hourly conference. She was the 
very soul of attention. And as she spoke 
and her soft, black eyes rode upon mine, 
I could read there more than an ordinary 
wish to tend upon a sick man. 

One evening, just as the serving-maid 
brought in the candles, Amelie followed. 

" The doctor gave me stout encourage- 
ment in your case to-night, Mr. Toman, '' 
she remarked, as tbe serving-maid left us. 
" He told me that a week, at least, would 
fetch you about, so that you might sit out 
of doors and look at the mountains. But 
you must not hope to climb to their tops 
— not yet a while, at least," she added, 
gaily. 



DAY-DREAMS. 



I thanked her, as I had done a thou- 
sand times before for her own and her 
mother's endless deeds of kindness, and 
expressed my delight at the good prospects 
before me. 

" I feel strong enough to gossip a bit 
to-night/' I ventured. " Would you mind, 
if we were to talk about yourself? " 

" That will depend upon how personal 
you choose to become," was her teasing 
answer. 

" Very good. You know enough ol 
me and my past history, to feel certain 
that I will not abuse a privilege. You 
may be confidential." 

The colour mounted to her cheeks. 

" How much so ? " she requested. 

" I will ask you to tell me if amongst 
all of the tourists and people whom you 
have met here, you have never seen that 
person for whom you felt more than a 
passing regard ? " 

" But that is personal, Mr. Toman ! " 

" True. All of the tender and better 
emotions of our hearts are but personal. 
May I insist ? " 

She read my motive. 

" But you are already betrothed ! " 

"Yet 'there is many a slip,' you 
know." 

"After one has given one's word of 
honour ? " 



10 DA Y-D REAMS. 



" Yes. Promises are often made out 
of regard for others than the parties di- 
rectly concerned. Mine was made to 
gratify the family pride of my father and 
mother. At the same time, the fulfilment 
of that vow would be the means of mak- 
ing my whole life wretched ! " 

u I will answer 3'our question, then," 
was her decision. " I have met my fate ; " 
and she looked at me as if her eyes would 
drive their light through my soul. "Was 
the dream of my past days of illness to be 
realized ? She must have translated my 
thoughts and not wishing to buoy me 
with false anticipations, she spoke. Her 
words drove me mad. " I have told you 
that I have met my fate. Rather say that 
I have given my promise. As in your 
case, it may make my life wretched ; yet 
I have promised and I cannot annul my 
word." 

" You, too are bound ! " I cried. 

" Yes, I met my betrothed here. He 
came, as you did, from England. He is 
now upon the Continent. He will be in 
Berne to-morrow." 

Her words stifled me. 

" Then it is not a case of heart ? " 

"He was the first man who ever 
spoke a kind word to me. We were to- 
gether much during his last tour. That 
was a twelvemonth back." I could see 



DAY-DREAMS. 11 



the tears climbing to her eyes. Her voice 
broke. She buried her head in the pillow 
beside my own and sobbed like a child ! 
" Robert ! " was all that she could utter. 

Suddenly re-collecting herself, she 
arose, drew away from me, crossed to the 
window and wept as if her heart would 
break. Gradually I begged her to become 
seated again. 

"If I were to tell you that I, too r 
have read your heart. If I were to tell 
you that you seemed a part of myself from 
the moment that I first awoke and found 
your eyes looking into mine. If I were 
to tell you that I love you " — 

" It would be as though you had not 
spoken," she interrupted. " I hardly need 
tell you that my heart, too, is human. 
And it is because I feel certain that you. 
will not betray a confidence, that I tell you 
that yours is the only soul to which mine 
has gone out to in quick and passionate 
response. Yet back of it all, beneath it 
all, above it all, rests my word of honour 
to another man. Whatever may be the- 
results that follow, I shall live by my 
pledge ! " 

She stopped. I begged her to go on. 

" No I We must not think of it ! It 
is wicked. I should be wronging an hon- 
ourable man who truly, sincerely loves 
me. We must not return to this subject,. 



12 DAY-DREAMS. 



Mr. Toman. After your recovery, we 
must never see each other again ! " 

I pitied her in her sorrow. Her heart 
was doing battle. I respected her resolu- 
tion. But I loved her as man never loved 
woman. And though I may have erred 
in my wish to bend her from her vow, my 
mind was set. I felt that a fatal mistake 
lay in my promise with Louise. 



Chapter III. 

The following day brought Amelie's 
betrothed to Berne. 

My surprise was the greater, when I 
found in him an old acquaintance — John 
Burlingame, M.D. and a member of my 
club, at home. 

Conscience began to fight against the 
resolution of my heart. I worked myself 
into a state of prostration The fever that 
had so obligingly taken itself off, gave me 
a sharp turn by paying me another visit. 
A relapse set in. I became alarmed lest 
my illness might cause long disablement 
and knowing that Miss Hodgson was in 
London, I wired her to come to Berne. 
Three days brought her to my side. 
And although she understood my pre- 
carious condition, her heart seemed not 



DA Y-D REAMS. 13 



readily to respond, which led me to believe 
that her former slight regard for me had 
vanished altogether. 

" I met young Holland at Lady Rock- 
man's dinner party in London," Louise 
informed me, after we had chatted a bit. 
" You remember Tom, don't you ? " 

Now I did remember Tom, quite well. 
I had known him all my life. He and I 
were school-fellows together and although 
he had been abroad since he graduated 
and I had not seen him for three or four 
years, his family and mine were neigh- 
bours, formerly. Good people they were, 
too and I was rather charmed than other- 
wise to learn that Tom was evidently 
seeing the upper-crust of life and en- 
joying it, and I so expressed myself to 
Louise. 

" How is Tom getting on ? " I asked. 

"He seems to be prospering. His 
father left him some money, you know. 
But I fancy that he makes a lot besides. 
In fact he told me that he had netted 4,000 
pounds in the past three months." 

"Doing what?" 

" Managing some financial scheme, I 
believe. You know that Tom was quite 
a flame of mine, when we were at home ? " 

" Serious ? " 

M Oh, bless you, yes ! We were the 
best of friends. He proposed to me once, 



14 DA Y-D REAMS. 



but I told him that my hand was already 
promised." 

I noticed that she left out all reference 
to the heart, in reminding Tom of her be- 
trothal, but made no comment. 



"Do you love Dr. Burlingaine?" 
Louise asked Amelie, after they had grown 
familiar enough one with the other, to 
mutually confide, as the majority of girls 
do in such cases. 

" I respect him, I reverence him," 
was the decided answer. 

" And you would wed the man upon 
the bare fact of a promise I " 

"My pledge is my bond !" came the 
sharp reply. 

" I, too, gave my word, when I was 
a mere girl," continued Louise. " But I 
have made up my mind that I shall not 
live bv it." 

"Why not ? " 

"Because I have found a person 
whom I like better." 

" And for that reason you would break 
your promise ! " 

"Better that, than break my heart 
over a rash betrothal," was the resolute 
rejoinder. " That is the whole trouble 
with girls in this age. They are too abid- 



DAY-DREAMS. 15 



ing, by half. They depend too much upon 
letting others tie their hands for them, 
whilst their hearts flutter free and subject 
to every new infatuation that springs up. 
Nobody shall make my match for me. No. 
Far better follow one's heart, than be 
traded off for a high-sounding name or a 
purse of gold. Parents do that sort of 
thing now-a-days, you know. It may suc- 
ceed in France, where the girls, poor 
creatures, are never allowed to say that 
their souls are their own. But it is a 
blessed thing that I was not born in that 
country. Mr. Toman and I have been be- 
trothed since childhood, — but that has 
not hindered my heart from running off 
in another direction and finding its true 
aflftnity." 

" But if your fiance were to look at it 
in quite another light ? " 

"Then I would say ' bother my fiance'!' 
I do not propose to allow my heart to be 
trammelled by any person. It is its own 
free agent and must act at will. You 
have heard me mention Mr. Holland's 
name? We have loved each other pas- 
sionately for five years. Why, then, should 
I permit a bald, cold promise to stand in 
my way as a stumbling-block to my future 
happiness ? No I I came here at the re- 
quest of Mr. Toman, because he was very 
ill and we are old friends. I came upon 



16 DAY-DREAMS. 

a mission of duty, feeling that if anything 
should happen, at least one of the friends 
of his family ought to be near. He has 
almost recovered, now. I shall return at 
once to Loudon, with the same love that 
I now bear for the choice of my heart — 
Tom Holland/' 



" How do you like Miss Hodgson ? " 
I asked Miss Lucerne, after their confab 
had ended. 

" Socially, I regard her as a most 
charming young person. But I do wish 
that she might be more constant — for your 
sake. You deserve the love of a truly 
loyal woman ; one who in these fast days 
of promising and forgetting, would prove 
herself an anomaly: I mean a wife sin- 
cerely, purely, devotedly in love with her 
husband. Because, there are so many 
marriages that are mere conveniences. 
And love does make such a wide differ- 
ence in one's married life, you know." 

" You are contradicting your own re- 
cent argument." 

u So, I am simply telling you what 
should be. I am not at war with my 
promise. That is in another man's keep- 
ing and I shall fulfill it." 



DAY-DREAMS. 17 



"Has Miss Hodgson spoken about 
our affairs ? " 

" I offer no explanation. Besides, 
that would be betraying a confidence. 
But I leave you to draw your own infer- 



Chapter IV. 

The next morning's post brought the 
London newspapers. Louise picked up 
one and began to pore over its columns. 
Something drew my attention to her. 
Her face had taken on a deathly pallor. 
Her hand trembled. 

" Louise ! Are you ill ? " 

" Merely shocked/' she said. " Read 
this " and she handed me the newspaper, 
pointing with her finger to a paragraph. 
I read it : 

4 * Diamonds and jewels to the value 
of £3,000 have most mysteriously dis- 
appeared from the house of Lady Rockman, 
in Kensington Gardens. Her Ladyship 
left the hou^e the day before yesterday, to 
pay a brief visit to the home of Mrs. Cov- 
erley, in St. John's Wood. The same day 
that she departed, a messenger called at 
her house with a letter addressed to Mrs. 
Luton, the house-keeper. The letter read: 



18 DAY-DREAMS. 

' I have made up my mind to stop at Mrs. 
Coverley's house longer than I had origin- 
ally intended, as she is to give a dinner- 
party to-morrow night. I shall therefore 
ask you, my dear Mrs. Luton, to kindly 
hand my diamonds to the bearer, who is 
Mrs. Coverley's man and he will fetch 
them to me. Be sure that you give him 
the box containing the tiara/ " 

" The house-keeper delivered the jew- 
els, as requested. Upon the following 
morning (yesterday) Lady Rockman re- 
turned home and was shown the letter. 
Of course she at once pronounced it a 
forgery. Scotland Yard has been notified, 
but no trace of the clever swindler or 
jewels has been found." 

"What does it all mean?" I asked 
Louise, who had revealed further signs of 
distress. 

" The tiara is mine — the present that 
you gave me Christmas, three years ago ! " 
she managed to say. u I feared to carry 
my jewels and so entrusted them to Lady 
Rockman's keeping. This for my pains ! " 

I could do little to console the girl 
— a difficult task under like circumstances. 
She at once prepared to go back to London. 

Fully recovered, I was able to ac- 
company her to the railway station ; so 
together we went, Miss Lucerne, Dr. Bur- 
lingame and I, to see her oft* 



DA Y-D REAMS. 19 



Adieus were said and the train sped 
out, carrying with it a heart that I felt 
morally certain did not beat for me. And 
I was doubly convinced, when, at the end 
of the sixth day, I received a letter from 
Miss Hodgson, in which she told me that 
she would no longer hold me to my engage- 
ment with her, adding that she had prom- 
ised to become Tom Holland's wife. I 
revealed the truth to Miss Lucerne, still, 
wondering if the state of affairs could be 
strange to her. 

" The secret is out," she replied u and 
by Miss Hodgson's pleasure. There, is no 
harm, therefore, in telling you thjft she 
confided the news to me and told me the 
name of her fiance." / 



Chapter V. 

The gist of my agenjfs letter again 
occurring to me, I hurrjfd home earlier 
than I might have done uflder ordinary cir- 
cumstances and within#ve days I reached 
London, after a few howrs' sojourn in Paris. 

Theleaves werejjJst beginning toblush. 
Old Man Winter h^f sent his first courrier 
over the brow of Autumn, whitening her 
lashes. As we were listening to the first 
sound of Winter's footfall, society was 



20 DAY-DREAMS. 

preparing to leave the Autumn tints be- 
hind and come up to town to make ready 
for the season's whirl. A number of new 
bads were announced to appear. Knowing 
ones, amongst them the good dames who 
devoted a share of their hours to marking 
out the facial lines of Time, said that the 
sets were to have an uncommonly brilliant 
season. A multiplied number of weddings 
were coming off, they said, and as I was 
going about a good bit and seeing friends, 
I found myself in the thick of gossip. A 
number of persons had asked if my match 
with Miss Hodgson was going to hang 
fire forever. Other good moralists argued 
that all respectable members of society 
should be married and I realized that the 
clever and only thing for me to do was to 
make a clean breast of it, which I did, by 
relating how my fiance had thrown me 
over. 

London society had learned the news 
officially. The marriage was announced 
to take place within a fortnight, at the 
country house of Miss Hodgson's uncle, 
with whom she had made her home since 
the death of her parents. With the nois- 
ing about of her coming marriage, also 
came the news that two very prominent 
persons in society had met with heavy 
losses through a series of forged cheques. 
The names that they bore, were so like 



DAY-DREAMS. 21 



the genuine signatures, that rhe very vic- 
tims halted for a time and tried to call to 
mind if they might not have written them 
during a spell of hypnotism. 

The Holland-Hodgson marriage came 
off with great pomp and the happy couple 
ran over to Paris on their bridal tour, re- 
turning within a fortnight. 

Then came another morsel for society. 
The cards were out for Dr. Burlingame's 
marriage with Mis3 Lucerne. It was to 
take place at the little church near the 
doctor's country-house, not far from Lon- 
don, for the reason that his professional 
duties would not allow him to make an- 
other journey to Switzerland. He had at 
first intended to do that, but a most com- 
plicated case now claimed his attention, and 
prevented his absence from England. He 
had at once advised Miss Lucerne of the 
situation and wished to knOw if she 
would consent to a postponement of the 
marriage, or come to England and have 
the ceremony performed here. She advised 
him that she would come with her mother 
to London. 



Chapter VI. 

Mr. and Mrs. Holland had taken up 
their home temporarily, in one of the 
.houses in Elm Park Road. ]$o sooner had 



22 DA Y-D REAMS. 



Miss Lucerne and her mother arrived, 
than they were invited to pay the bride a 
visit. 

"You are still resolved, Miss Lu- 
cerne ! " exclaimed Mrs. Holland. " What 
a will you have, to be sure ! I sincerely 
trust that you may never find cause to re- 
gret your decision.'' 

" Why should I ? " Miss Lucerne 
asked. 

" Well, you are not marrying for love, 
that is one sure thing," came the half- 
apologetic answer. 

- " By what right do you question the 
loyalty of my heart ? " was the sharp re- 
proof. 

" I am not disputing your loyalty, my 
dear Miss Lucerne. I am speaking of 
your sincere affection. True, you may~ 
grow into it,'' she continued, aggravatingly. 
u For example, I have a friend who mar- 
ried under circumstances very much like 
your own. She confessed to me that she 
did not care a jot for her husband at the- 
beginning. But now — after a year of 
married life — she loves him to adoration.-. 
I do not pretend to argue that other cases 
of the same sort may not be cited. I dare 
say that her's had its precedent and no- 
doubt will have its successor. But you 
will admit that such instances are few.. 
The promise ought not to cheat the heart 



DAY-DREAMS. 23 



of its natural inclinations. You remem- 
ber our conversation in Switzerland ? " 

"I do remember your words, Mrs. 
Holland, — with regret. And I shall be 
obliged to kindly ask you not to repeat 
them," was the respectful, but firm rejoin- 
der. " I am not a cbild. I know my duty, 
completely — to myself and to others. I 
am not unmindful of my obligations, and 
realize that I am not tbe only person in 
this world who has made a sacrifice. Mine 
will make another happy and by so doing, 
I shall at least have proven myself loyal. 
Besides, what is our duty here, if not to 
study the joy of our fellow-beings ? No. 
I am but following the dictates of my con- 
science," she concluded. 

" My daughter has rightly decided," 
added Mrs. Lucerne. " I honour her for 
it. It shows that her word is worthy of 
its author. Loyalty leads to love. It will 
in Amelie's marriage with Dr. Burlingame. 
I should a thousand times rather see her 
as she is, than fickle — a fault too common 
in this day, with many girls, who permit 
their hearts to turn a somersault every 
time they happen to meet a new face or a 
new bank account that exceeds the last 
one. Many a man of greater wealth than 
Dr. Burlingame has sued for Amelie's 
favour. Mr. Toman was one of the num- 



24 DA Y-D REAMS. 

ber. But she has put them all aside out 
of respect for her promise." 



A most eccentric person was John 
Burlingame, M.D. I never had been able 
to quite make him out as long as I had 
known him and I don't believe anybody 
else had. He was a, wonderfully prosper- 
ous physician, about thirty, well read, 
capable of diagnosing the most complicated 
eases ; and in spite of his youth, I have 
known many eminent practitioners to es- 
teem it a high favour to be brought into 
consultation with him over the knotty 
case of a patient. 

Burlingame was an inveterate club 
man ; a persistent first-nighter ; and a 
noted man about town. Withal he was 
an insatiable slave to the habit of betting. 
!Nbt a gambler, do I mean, in the common 
sense of the word, for I never knew him 
to frequent gambling halls; but he was 
for ever and ever again laying wagers. 
True, I had seen very little of him since 
my return home. In fact, I had rather 
avoided meeting the man who, in my es- 
timation had robbed me of the sun of my 
life ; she from whose presence I had torn 
myself and resolutely stopped away, that 



DAY-DREAMS. 



she might fulfil a woman's word of 
honour. 

With a lot of other jolly fellows, I 
was attending a dinner at the club upon 
the night previous to Burlingame's wed- 
ding. He had arranged it, he said, to 
give a bit of a farewell touch to his bach- 
elor days, before throwing off the joys of 
celibacy to take upon himself the duties 
of what we all wished might be his happy 
married life. 

Tom Holland was amongst the num- 
ber of invited guests. For Tom was 
asked everywhere now, and his friends 
made quite a lion of him since his really 
fortunate marriage with Miss Hodgson, as 
they all termed it. Besides, there was 
no person who did not enjoy Tom's com- 
pany, for he was intelligent, well posted 
and a jolly good soul we all considered 
him. He was quite a traveller, too, and 
that made him rather an interesting com- 
panion for an hour's chat over a glass. 
As for me, 1 felt that Tom had really done 
me an excessively good favour by taking 
Miss Hodgson off my hands ; an act of 
friendship which I sincerely appreciated, 
and told him so. 

During the height of hilarity that 
the wit of the club had caused whilst the 
dinner was on, John Burlingame hastily 
arose, rapped loudly for order, secured 



26 DA Y-D REAMS. 



silence and launched this most extra- 
ordinary challenge: 

" I wager a thousand pounds and 
the wine for the club, that the moment 
the minister concludes the marriage cere- 
mony to-morrow morning, I shall drop- 
dead ! " 

Thereupon, he resumed his seat at 
the head of the table, whilst members and. 
guests blankly stared at him and then at 
one another. The challenge appealed to 
us as being so utterly ghastly, that no per- 
son ventured to open the shell of silence, 
with the exception of Tom Holland : 

" I will take that Avager, even money !" 
he said. 

The stakes were deposited with a 
member of the club. 



Despite the lateness of the hour, the 
news spread like Avildfire. Reports of 
Burlingame's reckless wager were hurled 
from mouth to mouth, from club to club 
and about town. 

Upon the following morning, the par- 
ish church was crowded from chancel-rail 
to gallery. Fashion, friends, upper-tendom, 
strangers and curiosity-seekers were out in 
force. The church was piled with flowers. 
The choir sang with new vigour. At last. 



DAY-DREAMS. 27 



the contracting parties appeared before the 
altar. 

How angelic the bride looked ! I 
had taken my position in the furthest dark 
corner of the church where I could see, yet 
not be seen. I had carefully refrained 
from meeting Miss Lucerne since her ar- 
rival in England, fearing that my old love 
might get beyond proper bounds and 
manifest itself in impetuous speech. Be- 
sides, I held the girl in such high regard, 
owing to her loyalty to her promise, that 
I felt that I might sin against her, if, at 
the last moment I were to thrust myself 
and the pangs of my heart upon her. 
Therefore I had stopped away altogether. 

The organ's mellow, dreamy notes 
died away — in mocking echo, it seemed 
to me. Every spoken word cut into my 
heart like a knife. The solemnization of 
the marriage had proceeded to the min- 
ister's crowning sentence : 

" I pronounce you man and wife 1 " 

John Burlingame dropped dead at 
the feet of his bride ! 

She swooned and they had to carry 
her out of the church. 



28 DAY-DREAMS. 

Chapter VII. 

It was a matter of days before the 
bride of this distressing episode recovered. 
The shock proved a frightful load for her 
to bear. The obsequies over the remains 
of John Burlingame, M.D., went on with- 
out her. 

As for the members of the club, they 
were completely stunned. The incident 
harrowed up a profound sensation ; not 
the least regretful feature in this connec- 
tion being the fact that Tom Holland had 
the assurance to apply for the payment of 
the stakes. Not one of us had so much 
as surmised that Holland had not an- 
swered his host that night in pure jest. 
Equally, we all supposed that he would 
immediately withdraw his own deposit 
and then and there let the matter drop; 
and we felt doubly sure of it, after the ter- 
rible realization of what seemed to be no 
less than the ghastly fulfilment of what 
must have been Burlingame's premonition 
regarding his own early fate. 

At the same time two or three other 
reports set people by the ears. Half a 
dozen instances came to light in which 
forged cheques had been uttered. This 
time the victims were all prominent club 
men. Detectives were set to work upon 
the cases reported. Word was received 



DAY-DREAMS. 29 



from Scotland Yard, that a cine had been 
found to Lady Rockman's diamonds, 
about £100 worth of the jewels and also 
the tiara having been recovered. 

One night, a stranger presented him- 
self at the house of the Holland's, with a 
note of introduction bearing the signature 
of one Oliver Benton, a French officer, 
with whom Tom had been on friendly 
terms whilst in Paris. The note contained 
the request that Holland should extend 
the courtesy of host to the bearer, Yinton 
Senoj, Esq., who was a life-long friend of 
Benton's. Senoj explained that he de- 
sired to be shown about the city with the 
view to future possible investment of cap- 
ital in the interest of a French syndicate. 
Holland and Senoj dined out that even- 
ing, and at a late hour, Tom was brought 
home in such a bewildering state of in- 
toxication, that he had to be lifted out of 
the cab and carried, bodily, into the house. 

Early the next morning, an officer 
arrived at the house and placed Holland 
under arrest. 

The incident raised a cloud of sur- 
prise. Conjecture ran chaotic. Tom was 
brought into court and his case postponed 
until the following day to give him time 
to find counsel. Everybody fell to talk- 
ing about the case. Society above stairs 
and in Bohemia knew Tom so well, that 



30 DA Y- DREAMS. 



his name was common property. As a 
-consequence, when he presented himself a 
second time for a hearing, the court-room 
was thronged, amongst the number being 
his old acquaintances. By the side of the 
prisoner sat his young wife, completely 
bent beneath her burden of sorrow, whilst 
directly back of him sat Vinton Senoj. 

The charges against Holland em- 
braced the utterance of forged cheques in 
London ; the forgery of the Lady Rock- 
man letter; and the theft of the jewels. 

The enormity of these accusations so 
•completely bewildered Tom's counsel, that 
he asked for additional time to prepare his 
client's defense. The court granted a week 
and committed Holland without bail. The 
news swelled the sensation. The case at 
once developed into a casus celebre. The 
sad occurrence so affected the young wife 
that she took to her bed. 

The bereaved Mrs. Burlingame still 
remained in London, and at once made it 
her duty to call upon Mrs. Holland, for 
whom she did all in her power, being in 
■constant attendance at her bedside. I met 
her there twice, each time accidentally, 
and an embarrassing accident it was at 
first, too. But like Mrs. Burlingame, I 
felt that it was my duty to lend Mrs. Hol- 
land all of the consolation possible. 

The day for the trial arrived. A mass 



DAY-DREAMS. 31 



of damaging testimony was presented, in- 
cluding the now famous letter to Lady 
Rockman and the forged cheques. Vinton 
Senoj made a sworn statement that during 
his tirst visit to Holland, upon the night 
that he had brought him home so badly 
under the influence of drink, that the 
prisoner had confessed his crime. Addi- 
tional evidence was presented. Experts 
were sworn, who had examined the 
cheques and letters by comparing these 
with specimens of Holland's writing and 
declared that the same hand had uttered 
the forgeries. The web was slowly, but 
perceptibly chaining Holland in its meshes. 
At the same- time, his seemed to be the 
coolest head in all that fetid, crowded 
court-room. In spite of the officers, there 
arose a constant buzz of excitement. A 
dozen times the spectators had to be 
rapped to order, with the threat that 
quiet must reign, or the scene would be 
cleared and the doors locked. The pros- 
ecutor having exhausted his witnesses, 
announced that he rested the case. The 
prisoner was permitted to testify upon 
his own behalf. As predicted, he made 
a sweeping denial of all of the charges. 
His wife's deposition was read (she was 
too ill to attend) pleading her utter ig- 
norance of her husband's complicity in 
any crime and adding that until the 



32 DAY-DREAMS. 



present, she had believed him incapable 
of any immoral act. This closed the tes- 
timony for the defense. The case was 
summed up. Counsel upon both sides 
made ringing speeches. The judge charged 
the jury. Its members returned the ver- 
dict without leaving their seats : 

" Guilty upon every count." 

Holland, appearing not a jot crest- 
fallen, was remanded for sentence. 

Three days passed, during which time 
Mrs. Holland was kept unacquainted with 
the result of the trial. 

At eight o'clock, upon the evening 
of this day, a rumour startled the town 
with the news that Holland had been set 
at liberty two hours before. The report 
seemed incredible. However, the guard 
at the prison confirmed the report. The 
authorities exhibited evidence proving 
that by a bond, duly executed, Holland 
had been admitted to bail. Immediate 
investigation showed the bond to be a 
forgery^ 

The public talked about it, marveled 
at ir, dined over it. The signature was 
as clever a piece of work as one might wish 
to find. 

Holland's counsel caught his share of 
the blame. It was proven that he had 
secured the blank. He was placed under 



DAY-DREAMS. 



arrest, tried and sentenced for aiding in 
the escape of a prisoner. 



The newspapers of the following 
morning contained the account of a fright- 
ful railway holocaust in Northern England. 
The details were harrowing. The train, 
whilst running at a pace of fifty-five miles 
an hour, jumped the track and plunged 
headlong into an ugly ravine. The rail- 
way carriages were torn into splinters. 
The havoc grew hot with the spread of 
outbursting flames. The moans of the 
crushed and dying filled the wreck with 
eerie, aggravated horror. Men, women 
and children lay wriggling, pinned to the 
ground by great, cruel, ragged wedges torn 
from the timbers, their shrieks and cries 
piercing the ears of other victims bound 
to the ground by massive loads of crushing 
debris — appalling funeral pyres, beneath 
whose bulk the human sacrifice lay slowly 
burning to death. Night, that commis- 
erate Goddess spread her black wings 
over the awful spectacle. The list of the 
wounded and dead was flashed over the 
wires. The search brought to light the 
scarred remains of the person whose deeds 
had created the recent sensation of the Me- 
tropolis — Tom Holland. 



34 DAY-DREAMS. 



Chapter VIII. 

Poor Louise ! 

Of course we were obliged to break 
the terrible news to her, sooner or later. 

Her only reply came from the recess 
of her bleeding heart : 

" My broken promise ! Robert ! For- 
give me ! Forget me ! " 

The warm rills of April month began 
to unlock the jaws of winter. Since learn- 
ing the fatal news, Louise had never left 
her room. The breath of the opening 
roses came in through her window where 
the eglantine rambled over the casement. 
The budding of springtime brought the 
blushes to her cheeks. But they were 
those hectic advance heralds, that only 
make the after-pallor seem the more de- 
cided. 

So when the violets and the grasses 
came, we planted new, green sods over the 
silent mound, and bade the broken-hearted 
sleep on, whilst the willow-tree swayed 
and fanned the little narrow place of rest. 

Do hearts break ? 

Ask if they love ! Ask if the pure 
soul spurs its possessor on to better and 
higher things in life. Ask if the mind 
fills us with the desire to reach ambition's 
highest rung! Ask then, if the being 
who is made sick with sorrow, does not 



DAY-DREAMS. 35 



brood over it, dream over it, wake from 
fitful sleep at the touch of it ! With this 
train of pondering, come the ills that fol- 
low in the wake of black despair. 

The tortured heart breaks beneath its 
load. 



Flowers by the wayside are never 
wasted. Their sweet narcotics refresh the 
heart of some lone passer-by. The balm 
of the forest pines sweetens nature's breath. 

The old love that had flitted through 
the sick-room of the little Swiss inn had 
not been forfeited. Like the fragrance of 
the spring-time blossoms, it had been car- 
ried along upon the wings of the time- 
current. 

True love never forgets. 

The bells rang joyfully, sweet and low 
upon that June morning of calm, as we 
all wended our way to the little church 
that stood upon the hem of the lawn near 
the old homestead. A blithesome mar- 
riage party filled the country-house. The 
strains of the wedding march joined the 
voice of the soft south-winds as they sang 
through the tree-tops, where the giant 
oak's_green leaves lulled the melody. 

" e sealing of the vows was consum- 



DAY-DREAMS. 



mated, as Amelie stood by my side and in 
turn we repeated : 

" Thereto I plight thee my troth ! " 



THE END. 



**$& 



A Maiden's Vision. 

All humanity loves a lover, — from 
the King in high and regal splendour, 
down to the decrepit old mendicant who 
hobbles into her dismal garret, burdened 
and doubled beneath her bundle of faggots 
for the gloomy grate. The living, throb- 
bing pulse, the very life-glow, the spiritual 
essence, the essential soul of all the world, 
hinges upon that one divinely-human fac- 
tor, love. Ever hovering by the side of 
life's material surroundings is that silent, 
hidden, seductive Something, possessed of 
a power sufficiently pungent to infuse the 
bosom with an inspiring drop of heart's- 
ease; an alluring, heaven-born balm, ever 
ready to lull into a spell of delicious lan- 
guor, the romantic imagination of the 
dreamy maiden. Her supine meditation 
suggests the possibility that she may have 
caught a glimpse of Cupid in his flight. 

The maid loves. 



DAY-DREAMS. 37 



The Double Cross. 



(Copyright by American Press Association.! 



Chapter I. 

Cesca is my name — Cesca Melin. I 
was bom at Westerns, Sweden, not far 
from Stockholm, in 186 — . My father, 
Grefve Carl Melin. was an officer of high 
rank in the King's army. My mother, 
Grefvinna Carlotta Bertha, descended 
from one of the* oldest families about 
Waxholm. 

Before I arrived at the importance of 
sixteen years, my parents died. 

Olef Olsen, the only son of a barrister, 
was fiance to me. He begged me to stop 
longer at Westerns ; but I had come into 
possession of the 100.000 kronor left to 
me by my father in his will ; and being 
possessed of a desire to see the world and 
all that there is in it. I uttered a cry of 
delight, when, upon the morning of the 
31 of June, 18S — . I received a letter from 
America . postmarked New York, jointly 
written by my great-grand-uncle Ivan 
Trolsky and his wife Vera, who had gone 
from CronstaMt, Russia, to the States two 
years previous. 

I Lad frequently been a visitor at 
their house at Cronstalt. my uncle and 



DAY-DREAMS. 



aunt both being natives of Stockholm. 
And being readers of the Swedish news- 
papers, Ivan and Vera had come upon the 
announcement of my succession to my 
father's fortune — a fact which seemed to 
highly impress them, for they congratu- 
lated me upon it, at the same time ex- 
tending a pressing invitation to pay them 
an early visit, underscoring the assurance 
that I would be most affectionately wel- 
comed. 

Of coarse I read this letter to Olef, 
who, now that my parents were gone, 
found no other person sufficiently inter- 
ested in me to interpose caste objections 
to our suit of wooing. 

From the very outset, Olef seriously 
opposed my uncle and aunt's invitation. 
But in spite of his protests, early in 
August I departed from Scandinavia by 
one of the Thingvalla line of steamships, 
arriving in New York upon the 28th day 
of the month, when I was most profusely 
welcomed by Ivan and Vera. 

Upon the following morning, whilst 
the breakfast was progressing, a messen- 
ger was admitted, bearing a dispatch, 
addressed to my aunt. Nervously she 
received it, raggedly tearing it open, as 
one unused to the receipt of messages. 

"Who is it from?" Ivan asked as 
the messenger departed. 



DA Y-D REAMS. 39 



M Sara's mother." 

"From Pittsburgh?" 

"Yes." 

" What news ? " he earnestly inquired, 
noticing his wife's dangerous whiteness. 

" Sara is sick unto death ! Poor cou- 
sin ! I must go to her at once. How sad ! " 
she exclaimed, turning to me. "And you, 
Cesca — I dread to leave you. But Sara is 
so dear to me. I love her as a sister, and 
duty calls me to her. But let us hope 
that she will brave it, that I may soon 
hasten home. Your Uncle Ivan will do 
all for you in the world while I am away." 

Before nightfall we had been to the 
railway station and seen Aunt Vera enter 
safely upon her journey. As the train 
sped out, the tears rushed into my eyes, 
and I felt myself buoyed homeward upon 
the wave of desertion. And once alone I 
felt a reluctance in accepting even the 
kind offices of Uncle Ivan, wishing all 
the time, from the bottom of my crying 
heart that I might but cast one glance 
into Olef's fond eyes ; my dear Olef who 
was all the world to me. 



Chapter II. 

A week had gone by before Ivan re- 
ceived a letter from Vera. In this she 



40 DAY-DREAMS. 



told him that her cousin Sara was im- 
proving. 

But fancy our mutual discomfiture 
when, within the next three days, another 
letter came to Ivan, signed by Sara's mo- 
ther, Esther, saying that Vera had sud- 
denly been taken seriously ill with the 
same malady that had prostrated Sara 
— a type of fever which the attending phy- 
sician pronounced very malignant; and 
so reduced in strength had Vera already 
become that fatal results were feared. 

An immediate consultation followed 
and it was agreed that Ivan's duty lay in 
a quick visit to his wife, an obligation 
that I insisted was his first sacred debt. 
He quite readily agreed with me and by 
the next train started for Pittsburgh. 

The weary hours dragged on. By the 
second morning's post I received a brief 
note from Uncle Ivan telling me that 
poor Vera was rapidly sinking : in fact, 
the family physician had given her up al- 
together. Eminent medical counsel had 
been called in — but their deliberation only 
went to confirm the opinion of the fam- 
ily's medical adviser. 

What was my surprise and joy, how- 
ever, upon the third day after Ivan's 
departure, when I received a letter post- 
marked Stockholm. I tore open the en- 



DAY-DREAMS. 41 



velope as if expecting to disclose a gem of 
the rarest worth : 

"You have but just set out on your 
voyage," Olef ran on, " as I begin to write 
you. No doubt this will reach the New 
World quite as soon as you do, for I 
direct it ' via England/ But do not make 
light of my haste, my anxiety to com- 
mune with you, I beg. When you went 
away, you took my heart with you. 
Cesca ! why did we part ? God grant that 
it may not be for long. Do not let the 
glamour of life's new phase lead you to 
forget me. Sleep in my heart. Let your 
faith awake with mine in the love-jeweled 
morning of our meeting. * * * Ever 
your betrothed, Olef." 

I at once answered this letter, telling 
Olef all that had happened, and went out 
to post it in time to catch the first steamer. 

I had no sooner returned to the house, 
than a messenger brought me a dispatch. 
I opened it and read these words : 

" Vera is dead 1 " (Signed), " Ivan.*' 



■yy: 



Chapter III. 

A week went on with no further tid- 
ing from my uncle save one letter, in 
which he said that it had been decided to 



42 DAY-DREAMS. 



lay poor Vera at rest in Esther's family 
plot. 

Within ten days Ivan came home. 
He was attired out of severest respect for 
his departed wife, and as I tried to console 
him daring our conversation, the tears 
rushed into his eyes and he cried as if his 
heart would break. Endeavour as I might, 
my words seemed to afford no soothing. 
Upon the following day and for a week 
longer he steadily refused to go to his 
office, declaring that life had lost all at- 
traction for him, now that poor Vera had 
gone. 

The season flew by. Olefs letters 
came and mine went, and before I realized 
it, May month was upon us. Nature had 
put on her warm, green robes. The flowers 
never smelled sweeter, the leaves never 
looked brighter — and but for the absence 
of the music of Olefs dear voice, the 
warble of the bird-notes would never have 
rung out in more delightful harmony. 

I had already begun to look for an- 
other letter from Olef. I remarked to 
Ivan that it was quite time. And I also 
told him that upon receipt of that letter 
I should return to Stockholm, having in- 
formed Olef to that end. 

What was my surprise when Ivan at 
once began to wean me from the notion of 
going home ! 



DAY-DREAMS. 43 



" Why, do you know," he exclaimed,, 
"that I had fully made up my mind to 
ask you to write Olef to pay us a visit 
that he might be enabled to go back with 
you? I like Olef very much. He seems 
a capital good fellow, and I am heartily 
glad that you have set your minds upon 
each other. And now," he resumed, 
" let me offer you a bit of advice. Olef is 
getting ready to enter the profession of 
law, is he not ? " 

a He has been admitted to the bar," 
I replied. B 

" Quite to my notion, then. If I am 
not mistaken your dot, left to you by your 
father, Grefve Melin, amounted to one 
hundred thousand kronor — about twenty- 
eight thousand dollars in American 
money." 

" Yes," was my answer. 

"Could your fortune be converted 
into ready money ? " he bluntly asked. 

"It is invested in securities which 
can be negotiated," I returned. 

" Very good. Of course you want to 
double your fortune. It is quite natural 
that you should. Olef, being a barrister, 
can readily accomplish the preliminaries 
for you. If you will write to him and 
instruct him to fetch over — well, say, 
twenty thousand dollars of that money, 
I, through my brokerage office, can invest 



44 DAY-DREAMS. 

it for you in 2sew York Stock Exchange 
listed securities that will yield you 100 
per cent, profit. In fact, I know of such 
an opportunity to-day. Do as I advise you 
and 1 will double your tor tune and give 
Olef a permanent place as manager in my 
office. His legal learning will stand him 
in to great advantage and he will find 
twice the amount of profit in stocks that 
he will in the law.'" 

Being a woman of inexperience, I of 
course, gave harbour to Ivan's advice. 
Twenty thousand invested would yield me 
an additional twenty thousand — besides 
giving Olef a start in life ! How happy 
we could be upon our little fortune ! 

And so by the outgoing steamer I 
sent Olef a letter, instructing him to carry 
out Ivan's suggestion. 

I will mention here that for a fort- 
night I had experienced the strangest sen- 
sations — a feeling of languor stealing over 
me and spells of morning dreariness. At 
times my limbs seemed stiff, almost dead. 
My back ached. I felt giddy. Twice I 
stumbled over the fioor when an ugly 
power swayed my head. I looked at my 
skin. It was growing parched, colorless, 
lifeless! I could not'make it out. My 
exercise and habits were regular. My 
mode of living was perfect. I took plenty 
of baths, fresh air and good, wholesome 



DAY-DREAMS. 45 

food ; and yet I grew weaker day by day. 
I consulted the old housekeeper about it. 
We called in Ivan. At first he suggested 
the advice of a doctor, but finally con- 
cluded that the cause mio-ht lie in the 
tin-poisoning from certain imported fruits, 
— a Swedish brand, of which no other 
member of the family had partaken. 

It happened that his surmise tallied 
with the cause, for I put aside the fruits, 
took certain remedies, including a power- 
ful tonic, and within a few days my 
physical strength began to mend. My 
cheeks reddened like the blush of the roses 
and I got on without the least hint of my 
former failing. 



Chapter IV. 

The Thing vail a, which was expected 
to arrive at the end of the following 
month, would have given Olef time to 
convert my securities and reach New York. 

Just eighteen days after posting my 
letter, I received a cablegram dated at 
Stockholm which told me that Olefs 
father had died, and that a visit to the 
States would be impossible. This cable- 
gram bore Olefs signature, and as I read 
it my spirits fell beneath their load of 



46 DAY-DREAMS. 

sorrow. I refused all offers of consolation 
and resolved to return home at once. 

" I hardly think that I would be rash 
about it," argued Ivan. " Besides, Olef s 
detention can be but momentary." 

I remarked that it was strange that 
I had not received my regular weekly let- 
ter from him. But Ivan soon turned my 
course of thoughts by saying that no 
doubt Olef's duties at home had crowded 
upon him so fast that he could find no 
time to write, and especially whilst 
watching by the bedside of a dying father. 
This argument won me over. 

" Bide your time, Cesca," Ivan went 
on. " The next steamer ma} 7 fetch good 
news." 

I waited a week. 

One morning Ivan handed me a letter 
postmarked Stockholm. It was in Olef's 
handwriting and yet it did not seem the 
same. 

M Here is a double cross made with a 
pen upon the back of the envelope. I 
wonder what he could have intended that 
to mean ? " I asked, showing the cross to 
Ivan. 

He could suggest no reason why it 
should be there. 

I tore off" the envelope and read : 

'"Do not let your heart split upon the 
rock of this, my final adieu. Brevity 



DAY-DREAMS. 47 



must be my parting message. Cease to 
hope. My heart is lost to you. 

"'You will ask why I have not kept 
my troth. I can but say that my father's 
will, opened after his death, has reversed 
my life, into which now shines the beam 
of a new love. 

" 'I am to marry the daughter of Lieut. 
Bodine to-morrow. Olef Olsen.' " 

My heart, torn with the anguish of 
my own sad life, I could only sob and 
weep over it. And then, as a woman some- 
times will do, I tried to lull my sorrow to 
sleep by the strains of melody. As I 
played softly, I followed the lines of that 
plaintive song, " Drifting Apart," that I 
had so often read in " Broken Barriers " : 

Drifting apart ! as the cruel shades 

Of the years rise up 'twixt you and me ! 

Drifting apart !— two separate tides 

Carry us out o'er the wide, wild sea ! 

Drifting apart ! for another love 

Has blinded you to the love I planned. 

Drifting apart ! for that alien love 

Has frozen your heart and chilled your hand ! 

Drifting! Drifting and further astray! 

My God ! will we ever again one day 

Meet in the passion of life's hottest fray, 

And love, as we did in the good old way? 

For the first time since my arrival in 
America — nearly one year now — my Un- 



48 DAY-DREAMS. 



cle Ivan began to show me warm atten- 
tion. Imbittered, weighed down, galled 
by Olef's cruel letter, I let myself drift in- 
to closer communion with Ivan, and — yes, 
I confess it — to avenge the past I gave 
him to understand that his ministry was 
not rejected. 

We walked a good bit, Ivan and I. 
And by this time his affection had grown 
to fire. It was no mere assumption, that 
love of Ivan's He was deeply in earnest. 
I am not the woman to read a man's heart 
amiss. The name of his wife, Vera, had 
faded into a mere memory now, and I re- 
ceived certain proofs that Ivan would 
have stripped his heart of all else in the 
world for me. 

I must say that I returned the pas- 
sion measure for measure. I had come to 
honour, respect and love Ivan. His image 
grew daily brighter and holier in my heart. 
And as we walked together, wrapped in 
each other's confidence, the very soul of 
joy lighted our pathway. 

One night and once again, as we 
walked beneath the heavy screen of the 
trees, a shadow fell in front of us — the 
figure of a woman it appeared to me — and 
as quickly it flitted away again. I re- 
member having twice remarked it to Ivan. 
On the second occasion the shadow came, 
just as we were replighting our troth and 



DAY-DREAMS. 49 



naming the day. I started, considerably 
frightened. Ivan calmed me. 

" It was nothing," he remarked ; " on- 
ly a branch of that tall tree swinging 
across our pathway." 

" But if it could have understood — 
if it could have spoken" — 

" What then ? " he asked, softly. 

" Perhaps nothing, Ivan. But I am 
a creature of such silly superstitions, you 
know. My people — my dear Swedish 
people — are imbued more or less with 
a belief in 'eerie things/ as the Scots 
say. It may be a fault, but it was born in 
me. Even when I was a child my old 
nurse used to tell me strange tales of 
gnomes and hobgoblins that swarmed 
about us, and the lesson seems to have 
followed me. So do not chide me 1 " 

His answer was that which he always 
gave when I pleaded for grace. 

He kissed me. 

The shadowy figure faded into space. 



As it was Ivan's custom to confide 
all of his little adventures to me, he 
found it quite in his turn of fancies one 
evening to relate a little incident that had 
just leaped into his life. It happened 
fully a fortnight after my receipt of Olef s 



50 DAY-DREAMS. 

letter. Ivan had returned home long after 
his usual hour. 

" What kept you so late, Ivan ? " I 
asked as he came down to dinner. 

a A most peculiar circumstance, my. 
Cesca," he answered. "On my way to 
my office this morning, I met face to face 
with a young man who evidently had 
just arrived from a journey. As our eyes 
clashed, he stopped suddenly, shocked, it 
seemed, by a pang — vertigo, I fancy — 
threw up his hand, quickly passed his fin- 
gers over his brow, clutched at his throat 
as if he would tear open his collar to re- 
lieve a strangling sensation, and losing 
consciousness, he reeled and fell. As he 
came to the ground I supported him, and 
with the aid of a passer-by, carried him 
into a tradesman's shop. But as he re- 
mained in a stupor, I had him conveyed 
to the hospital." 

" But that did not keep you all day. 
Come, Ivan, confess now." 

" Ah," he answered, "it took up three 
or four hours of my time, and as my 
office duties require a measured amount of 
attention each day, I was obliged to stop 
there until I got through with my cor- 
respondence." 

I accepted his explanation. 

u But the man's name ? " I asked. 
■" Did you learn that ? " 



DAY-DREAMS. 51 



" How could I ? He had not recovered 
his senses when I left him.*' 

" But he must have carried papers ? " 

" If he did they were locked in his 
bag.'' 

" How old was he ? " 

" Perhaps five-and-twenry." 

" American ? "' 

" A foreigner, I fancy." 

" A foreigner ! " I cried. My head 
reeled. " What if it had been — but such 
nonsense ! It could not have been Olef ! 
You know Olef, of course ! " 

"What put that thought into your 
little head ? " he laughed. " Besides, this 
will dispel your presentiment," and he 
handed me a letter addressed to him, re- 
ceived that morning, postmarked Stock- 
holm. I read it. 

" Ivan Trolsky : 

" Sir — As I have failed to get an answer 
to my letter to Mile. Cesca Melin, I have 
my fears that she might not have received 
it. I believe that she still remains in 
America. If you should see her kindly 
sa3 T that I made no effort to arrange her 
business affairs, and that her securities 
still remain with her solicitors. My bride 
and I start on a tour of Norway to-morrow. 
Please give my best wishes to Mile. Melin, 



52 DAY-DREAMS. 



for whom I hope the richest of life's bless- 
ings. 

" Most sincerely, 

"Olef Melin." 

And so I dried my tears and set an- 
other seal of hate upon my heart, to lock 
out forever the image of the one who in 
my girlhood days I had learned to love. 

zjOO 

Chapter V. 

The sun upon the morning of the 
third Sunday in June, gold-tinged nature's 
greenest garb. I have never witnessed a 
more perfect dawn. It was the beauty of 
that morning that caused Ivan to invite 
me to take a run over the Palisades. Ivan 
had been making a day of it every Sab- 
bath for a month past, and his descriptions 
of the scenes had so awakened me to the 
anticipation of a jolly outing, that I 
gladly consented to go. 

Ten o'clock found us high upon the 
cliffs overlooking the grand old Hudson. 

It must have been an hour past mid- 
day when a cloud, a mere dot appeared 
like a freckle upon the face of the sun. 
A nervous breeze sprang up, more active 
than the calm, farming wind of the morn- 
ing. The cloud cast a shadow upon the 



DA Y-D REAMS. 53 



tree-tops, and for a moment its limbs 
formed the outlines of a doable cross upon 
the white cloth beneath our little banquet. 
I started as one out of a dream and looked 
at Ivan. My face must have been as color- 
less as the spread, for he asked if I were 
ill. 

" Look ! " I exclaimed. " That double 
cross !" 

He seemed not to understand. 

" It is only a shadow," he said. 

" But I have seen it before. Don't 
you remember — upon the back of my let- 
ter?" 

He laughed outright, called me a fool- 
ish woman and told me that I must not 
cling to superstitions. 

"A strange trait, that, with you Swe- 
dish people," he added. " They swear by 
signs. Upon my word, Cesca, if you go 
on like this, you will be telling me that 
you see those funny little men popping 
out of the rocks yonder, akin to those 
that your Swedish peasants declare dwell 
in the forest. And whilst I think about 
it, Rip Van Winkle's little gnomes did 
use to play at tenpins not far up the river 
— over in Sleepy Hollow, you know," he 
jested. 

He had no sooner spoken than a huge, 
thick cloud flung its black mantel over 
•the face of the sun. The wind arose, 



54 DAY-DREAMS. 



higher, madder, faster. The waters of 
the Hudson rose and pranced and stood 
upright. A great, roaring noise of threat 
and chaos, deafening in its force, filled the 
air. The waters below dashed and foamed. 
Small sails were picked up, tossed and 
hurled shoreward. 

The outing parties made for the shel- 
ter of cafes and the village near by. Con- 
fusion reigned. The sky grew dark, black- 
Imps of evil seemed to rise out of the very 
earth beneath our feet. Agents of fury 
and warning dangled from the sky. A 
brilliant flash of lightning crossed the 
scene, quickly followed by a crash of thun- 
der. I clung to Ivan who was quaking 
with fright. The flash had told me that 
he was deathly pale. 

u Too late to move now!" was all 
that he could say. 

" It is hardly upon us. We might 
reach the nearest cafe. Besides, this tree 
is a dangerous conductor," I protested. 

" The whole scene is shrouded," he- 
whispered. " We are as safe here as any- 
where ! " 

Another flash came! In the direc- 
tion of the bushes to the West I noticed a 
figure stealing towards us — a woman. 

" Look ! She has lost her way. Come- 
nearer to me — closer, Ivan, closer ! I fear !. 
I tremble ! " I cried as he clasped me in 



DAY-DREAMS. 55 



his arras. But the woman only quickened 
her pace, as we discovered by the frequent 
flashes of light. Faster and faster she 
ran toward us. 

The woman was now upon us ! For 
an instant a bright flash illuminated the 
spot. I looked ; I saw a face. 

Great God ! Vera ! 

" Ivan ! " I cried. M Do you see ! A 
spirit ! Her spectre ! Yera's ghost ! " 

The man strove to speak. His tongue 
was lashed to the roof of his mouth. He 
moved — confronted her, the phantom-like 
figure, as a daredevil might face a harbin- 
ger of death ! 

" At last ! " the woman cried. 

"Vera!" screamed Ivan, and fell 
upon his knees before her. 

" It is here that I find you ! " she con- 
tinued. " I have followed you many times, 
thinking that you were but building our 
plans as we agreed." 

" As who agreed ? " Ivan cried. 

"You, Ivan Trolsky, my husband, 
and I, Vera, your wife ! " she answered, 
as her hot temper fired her. " Yes, as we 
agreed ! I have crossed your path a score 
of times. Under the trees I heard you 
plight your troth. In the lover's seat I 
have heard your passionate words of love. 
I have watched and waited patiently, be- 
lieving that you schemed as we had pro- 



56 DAY-DREAMS. 

mised. But you have gone too far. Your 
words are no longer empty sounds. You 
love that girl ! Deny it not ! Trust to a 
woman's eyes to read the perfidy of a 
man's heart ! " 

" Vera ! " he protested, as I crept fur- 
ther into the shade to miss the flash of her 
temper. 

" Out upon it ! " she exclaimed. u The 
farce has gone far enough ! You would 
have made it a tragedy I I know ! The 
girl's failing health, your attempts to poi- 
son her I It is too true ! And where is 
the stranger you found fainting in the 
street ? Olef — where is he ? " 

"God! Olef!" I screamed, as the 
frightful truth darted to my brain. " The 
stranger, the accident, the hospital ! " I 
bent my tortured heart to listen. 

" Where is he ? " she repeated. " You 
have told me in your letters — the forcible 
detention of Olef at your friend's house 
— now confess it ! And the securities that 
you stole from his bag and sent to me! 
You would have killed the girl for her 
fortune, as we agreed I But your heart, 
even blacker than mine, turned false to 
your wife ! You ruined the plot by your 
perfidy ! Jealousy drives me to confess it ! 
You love her ! You would have wrought 
a tragedy — till your mind turned topsy- 
turvy, and then you planned to wed the 



DAY-DREAMS. 57 



girl, deceiving her into the belief that I 
was dead ! But it is my turn ! We will 
end it here ! Aye, and with a tragedy in- 
deed ! Now pay for your sins ! " And 
with the stout arms of a maniac Vera 
bound him in his tracks ; then, with giant 
force she pushed him towards the cliff. 
My heart stood still ! The ground whirled! 

At last Ivan found his speech. 

" Woman ! what would you do ? " and 
he struggled with her, as one of his feet 
slipped over the rock. He was falling ! 

" Vera ! : ' he gasped. 

" Xo words, man ! Over, I say ! " And 
as she gathered strength to force him 
down he clutched a bush. " Your false, 
lving tongue shall deceive no more ! Down 
I say ! " 

" Stop ! " cried a voice, and to Ivan's 
aid came a strong arm, dragging him back 
to the green turf, where he lay exhausted 
and speechless. 

The dense clouds hung heavier. A tre- 
mendous flood of fire swept down. A deaf- 
ening crash instantly followed and a hewn 
bolt of thunder fell at our feet. The rag- 
ged clouds parted. The light swung over 
the scene. 

"Olef!" 

And I leaped into the arms of my 
boy-lover ! 

*• Your wor:hless life is spared I " cried 



58 DAY-DREAMS. 



Vera to Ivan. But he spoke not. The 
sun broke forth from the edge of a ragged 
cloud, lighting the up-turned face of the 
defenseless man. 

AVe looked. Vera had been speaking 
to the dead ! 

The forked light left the seared mark 
of a double cross upon his brow ! 

"Cesca dear, can you not speak?" 
cried Olef. 

" Yes, — that is all that I can do. You 
find me here, the withered bush that you: 
have made me— a heart without a green 
leaf upon its twigs; a dead tree, upon 
which you hung your cruel letter, your 
message of adieu, your declaration to be- 
come the husband of another ! " 

" Cesca I " was all the protest that he 
could make. 

" Cesca ! " cried Vera. " It was my 
wickedness ! I wrote my own death-letter. 
I went to Stockholm, and from one of 
Olef's letters that he sent to you, forwarded 
back to Sweden to me by Ivan Trolsky, I 
forged Olef's hand ; and, that Ivan might 
recognize it, I marked the letter with the 
1 double cross/ a symbol agreed upon by 
us. It was I who sent the cable dispatch 
and the last letter to Ivan, signed 'Olef.' 
I released him from his bondage with 
Ivan's false friends. I have saved your 



DA Y-D REAMS. 59 



securities," she concluded, handing me a 
packet. 

The sun beamed brighter. The fresh- 
ened trees and grasses held up their green 
heads with pride as they drank from na- 
ture's cup. The daisies never looked more 
beautiful. I saw the fond, dead hopes of 
the past spring into new life. The birds 
sang again their sweet carols as my boy- 
lover's hand crept into mine and our fond 
lips met. 

" You have not forgotten 1 " I cried. 

"INej, min lilla kara Cesca, I have 
never forgotten ! Af allt mitt hjerta Jag 
alskar dig ! " 

" I, too," I repeated, translating his 
fond words, " 4 With all my heart I love 

you.'" 

FINIS. 



^ 



A Woman's Judas Kiss. 



An incident of the War of the Rebellion. 



The tragedy at Old Oak Plantation 
has long since passed into local history.. 
Many of the blanched faces that I saw at 
the threshold of Minard Harder's mansion 



60 DAY-DREAMS. 



on that balmy, but fatal October night in 
1863, have gone out through the wide 
gate that opens to Eternity. 

The Harder family numbered two 
persons besides old Minard, namely, his 
children: Alexandra, aged twenty, a proud, 
defiant daughter of the South, radiant 
with health's roses; dark, with night-black 
hair, fiery black eyes and a heart burdened 
with a temper quite as fierce as the most 
violent that I have ever met ; and Delia, 
a sweet, nestling, trusting lass of seven- 
teen ; one of those lithe, willowy, win- 
some blonde creatures, with soft, blue eyes, 
whose every glance threw a beam of love 
into the soul. 

I was the overseer of the Harder 
plantation, on the Bayou Mason, not far 
from Trinity at the time, and that is how 
I came to have a personal knowledge of 
transpiring events. An old, tumble-down 
church on the border of the little hamlet 
still bears the marks where a Federal 
shell ripped its way through the timbers 
and exploded, tearing into shreds a dozen 
worshipping negroes. 

Amongst the dwellers about the vil- 
lage, none were louder in their cries for 
revenge than Alexandra, one of the most 
irritating, rabid little rebel thorns for 
miles around, whose personal servant had 



DAY-DREAMS. 61 



been killed by a bit of shell during the 
fusilade. 

After nightfall, and within four-arid- 
twenty hours from the time that the de- 
structive missile had crashed into the 
church, Joe, one of Harder's servants, 
staggered breathlessly into the house, bear- 
ing in his arms our pretty Delia, wholly 
unconscious and as pallid as death. Ten- 
derly placing her upon a couch, he called 
for his master and Alexandra, who hur- 
riedly ran into the room and demanded 
an explanation. 

At that instant, Delia opened her eyes, 
looked about the room and muttered : 

"It was"— 

The words died upon her lips. 

"What does she mean?" cried Alex- 
andra. 

"She means dat Yankee Colonel,, 
sah," Joe answered, looking up at Har- 
der. He then went on to relate that his 
young mistress had ventured out upon the 
lawn, when Colonel Lane, who was in 
command of the Federal forces at Trinity, 
had surprised her, frightened her into si- 
lence, and finally — 

" Treachery ! Betrayal " hissed Alex- 
andra. 

" Yes, missy. I done heard her cry 
for help and dats what fetched me out ob 



DAY-DREAMS. 



de quarters. I done run out and when de 
Colonel heard me comin', he made off." 

Harder's face turned as white as a 
ghost whilst he waited for Joe's explana- 
tion. Alexandra knelt beside the pros- 
trate girl, and murmured the name of her 
sister. Then rising and confronting Joe, 
she raised her voice like a madwoman. 

"His name!" she cried. "Who is 
he ? " as the servant cowered before her. 

"I will bid him," interrupted Har- 
der. And then to Joe: "What is the 
officer's name?" 

" Colonel Lane, sah, ob de Tenth 
Volunteers, Joe replied. 

" The viper! " cried Alexandra. "He 
is the officer who ordered his Yankee dogs 
to shell the church last night ! My ser- 
vant's death is due to his command. He 
murdered her, with those other poor ne- 
groes. And now he attacks my poor, 
sister within sight of her own door ! " 

" Do you know him ? " her father 
asked, sadly. 

" I shall ! " was her only reply. And 
bidding us quit the room, she devoted her- 
self to the comfort of her sister. 

Inquiry at the headquarters of the 
Tenth Volunteers on the following morn- 
ing resulted in the information that 
Colonel Lane had just departed for Wash- 
ington obeying a call from the War De- 



DA Y-D REAMS. 63 



partment upon important military busi- 
ness, but that he would return within a 
fortnight. 

Meanwhile Minard Harder had sent 
Delia to his brother's plantation near 
Monroe. 

Within the prescribed time, Colonel 
Lane returned to his command at Trinity. 
Harder had at once announced this fact to 
Alexandra and also informed her that he 
should institute an investigation. But 
the girl took him wholly unawares, by de- 
claring that she had made up her mind to 
adopt quite another course, her first step 
being to declare a temporary truce and in- 
vite Colonel Lane to pay them a visit. 
Her father protested, but to no degree of 
success and at length agreed to let the 
headstrong little rebel have her own 
way. 

Her plans took sudden shape and not 
-a week had gone by, before Colonel Lane 
found himself not alone a guest at Min- 
ard Harder s table, but a consummate 
victim of Alexandra's fascination. Within 
a fortnight, the whole parish was loud 
with gossip about the new love-match; 
and love at hazard, too, the neighbours 
all declared. 

Meanwhile, through Alexandra's en- 
ergy, a secret league of Confederates had 
been formed, whose object it was to under- 



64 DAY-DREAMS. 



mine every effort that hore the semblance 
of a Federal scheme. 

Colonel Lane's visits to the Harder 
family grew more frequent day by day ; 
and by the middle of June, the whole 
parish awoke from its war-trance at the 
report of Colonel Lane and Alexandra's 
betrothal. This announcement, coupled 
with the fact that Minard Harder had 
given his consent, created a sensation 
amongst the conservative Confederates ; 
and many an oath of vengeance was sworn 
at the Yankee Colonel who had dared to 
press his suit, quite as many equally de- 
nouncing old Harder and his daughter as 
traitors to the great cause. 



So many times had Colonel Lane and 
Alexandra walked together, breathing the 
sweetened air beneath the old moss- 
covered oaks, each heart seeming to live 
only for the other and drawing nearer to 
its affinity, as the lovers whispered their 
vows, and longed for the angel of peace to 
spread her wings over the contending 
forces, quench the hot flame of factional 
hate, and proclaim the wicked battles at 
an end. Often did Colonel Lane relate 
his future hopes, his ambitions, his love, 
and as often did he declare that as soon as 



DAY-DREAMS. 65 



his Government had freed him from his 
task of duty, he would bear Alexandra 
away to his quiet. Northern home, where 
a white-haired, praying mother daily 
watched and waited for the dying out of 
the last cruel report of guns that should 
settle the appalling dispute, and send her 
loving son safely back to the paternal 
roof. 

"Are you confident that yours is 
nota bare infatuation ? n he would ask 
her. 

k -Yes. Robert, confident. If mine 
were not love, would I risk reputation. 
life, everything, and face the prejudices of 
these Confederate haters, that I might be 
near you? ^Vould not the single charge 
connecting your name with my sister's 
sad misfortune, be quite enough to fill my 
heart with malice toward you. if I did 
n Jt worship you ? Have I not jeopardized 
my own life in begging others to spare 
yours ?" 

••Yes, child. I am not chiding. I 
have too great faith in you for that, f real- 
ize the sacrifices that you have made for 
me. My prayer is that we may soon be 
privileged to realize the great measure of 
our true happiness. That shall be when 
we meet at the altar of marriage."' 

"Love and trust, Robert. Trust and 



66 DAY-DREAMS. 



love ! " was her answer as they strolled 
beneath the oaks. 



Time rolled on until the beginning of 
October, when a grand military ball was 
announced to take place at the Harder 
mansion. Invitations were sent out to 
every important family in the parish ; the 
officers of Colonel Fletcher's Confederate 
Staff; and also the officers of Colonel 
Lane's Volunteers. A temporary truce 
had been proclaimed and it was agreed 
that for one night, foe should meet foe, as 
friend and friend, and mingle as brothers 
upon a common peace footing. 

A great assemblage met upon the 
night of the ball. It was manifestly a 
success as to the number of beautiful wo- 
men, fine toilets, gorgeous uniforms and 
gold braid and epaulets. Many a brave 
Federal met a like gallant Confederate 
and gravely hinted that God's peace-angel 
would be a welcome visitor to North and 
South. 

At midnight, I happened to enter the 
crowded rooms whilst the intoxicating 
waltz was at its height. Just as I passed 
through the door leading from the east to 
the west parlour, I heard a murmur of 
confused voices ; at first low ; now rising 



DA Y-DREAMS. 



more turbulent ly ; again angerly swelling, 
until the whole assembly seemed possessed 
-of the spreading disquiet, and uneasily, 
nervously shifted about as if panic-stricken. 
The same idea, whatever it was, evidently 
had clutched the entire number of guests, 
instantly, simultaneously. 

There were epithets like " Traitors ! " 
"Yankees!" " Now's the time — up and 
let 'em have it ! Now — ready ! " 

A whistle, shrill and sharp, sounded 
in the west room, where Alexandra was 
receiving the flattery of her guests. 

A second time the whistle sounded. 

The music died suddenly as if the 
power of the players' arms had stopped. 

A third time the whistle. 

In an instant, fifty Confederate offi- 
cers and men bore down upon Colonel 
Lane and his staff, holding them in sub- 
jection. They roughly dragged Colonel 
Lane to the threshold of the west door, as 
a shot echoed upon the night-air, and sent 
him prostrate to the ground. At the same 
moment, the Federal officers were thrown 
into irons and hurried away. 

Alexandra ran to the door, holding in 
her hand a lighted lamp, as she peered 
into the pale face of her lover. He turned 
his dying eyes upon hers in passionate 
pleading. 

" Conquered ! " hissed the woman. 



DA Y-DREAMS. 



" My sister's wrong is avenged in his ig- 
nominious death ! " 

" Innocent ! " arose a voice. 

All looked about to meet the ashen 
face of Delia who had that moment re- 
turned to her home. 

" Sister ! Explain ! " demanded Alex- 
andra. 

" John Temple is my betrayer. Lookl 
The man who has slain your betrothed, * 
she added, pointing to the murderer. 
" He wore a Colonel's uniform." 

" Mine — stolen from me. He tried to 
enter our lines as a spy! And you, wo- 
man," he concluded, to Alexandra, " you 
have betrayed me with your Judas kiss ! '" 
And he died as she fell upon his breast. 

" I have done this ! I have won his 
love — and killed him!" she cried; and 
they bore her away, as Colonel Fletcher 
placed John Temple under arrest. 



ae 



-* xx JK- xx * 



Street the Echo. 

Those green spots in the valley of our 
youth ! How we romped in the hay-loft, 
hunted the Easter-eggs, breathed the odour 
of the new-mown meadows, ran to the 
jolly autumn nuttings and drew our chairs 



HAY-DREAMS. 69 

around the sparkling fire in the old- 
fashioned grate, on the long winter nights, 
and listened to the creepy ghost tales. 
These are bare recollections, now, however 
sweet the echo of the dear home-voices 
and the patter of tiny feet upon the floor. 

In my musings, there comes to my 
mind's eye the vivid picture of a green 
mound, on the west slope of a simple 
burying-place, where the trees and grasses 
grow and the sheltering pines sway at the 
touch of the wind's soft wings and sing 
the song of eternal rest. What feeble 
tributes were all of mine, indeed, in re- 
turn for a mother's love ! One tender vine 
climbs up and hugs the marble tablet, 
whilst the index finger of a white hand 
points to the Golden Gate above. 

Thou enchantress, youth ! Sweeter 
to me is the drop of pure water from the 
cup that hangs in the homely well-curb, 
than all the high-wines that sparkle in 
the goblets of the world ! 



Midnight in London. 

There it lies before you. Take a peep 
within. Wonderful surprises are going 
on, down in that nio;ht-robed town ; that 



70 DAY-DREAMS. 



moving panorama, that ever-shifting ka- 
leidoscope, dazing, bewildering in its 
myriad of mystic changes. Startling ro- 
mances stride over the vast scene like 
pawns upon a boundless chess-board. Ex- 
amples of wealth and poverty, jostling 
side by side in the great highways. Mil- 
lionaire and beggar touching elbows in 
the surging crowd. Money-kings in car- 
riages, riding past hunger-haunted hovels. 
Women, mothers, children, dying of cold 
and destitution. Everywhere bustle, pele- 
mele, confusion ; city arteries throbbing 
with agitation ; the rush, the race, the 
hurry of women and men; droning of 
countless wires, carrying electric messages 
of life, death, sorrow, peace, joy, happi- 
ness, engagement, battle, loss, victory, for- 
tune into the home, the public house, the 
counting-room, the offices of the great 
journals. 

But ho ! there without ! Shadow of 
the rumbling tram-car, carrying home the 
belated dozing passenger ; cabbie, ur- 
gently rousing his groggy fare ; cautious 
landlord, artfully closing the shutters to 
cheat the excise law and accommodate the 
all-night toper; screech of boatman's 
whistle ; river pirates lugging away their 
booty ; prison deputies guarding their 
sleeping charge; condemned, penitent 
criminal, with feverish anxiety clutching 



DAY-DREAMS. 71 



the crucifix and making peace with God, 
as the golden sun dawns upon his execu- 
tion day; glum doctor bobbing about, 
post-haste in answer to his patient's call ; 
crafty, designing solicitor drawing up the 
last testament of the old miser; modest 
maiden kneeling beside the couch of in- 
nocence, entrusting her pure soul to the 
keeping of her Maker ; Sister of Charity 
speaking words of cheer to a fallen sister; 
a life-lamp going out in a near-by garret ; 
child of nobility opening his eyes to the 
world in yonder palace ; child of poverty 
born within the lowly manger; rake of 
humanity with brain tangled in the 
meshes of debauche, reeling home to his 
pallid, starving martyr-wife, who fondles 
in her trembling arms her puny babe, so 
like a parcel of unwelcome death ; jolly 
company trippling to the strains of merry 
music ; gay thespians clinking glasses 
and toasting public favourites in rousing 
bumpers; sly, treacherous burglar helping 
the lad through the window ; courtesans 
of the street, plying their nefarious all- 
night trade and hob-nobbing with the 
guardians of the law ; ribald revelry of 
the dance-house; highwaymen, foot-pads 
waylaying the lonely traveller ; a cry in 
the night, a struggle, sharp crack of the 
robber s pistol, a shriek, murder, escape ; 
damnable libertine decoying to her ruin, 



72 DAY-DREAMS. 



the unsuspecting maiden ; faithless, un- 
worthy wife hurrying home from secret 
rendezvous with her betrayer ; deceitful 
wine-laden daughter, clandestinely creep- 
ing beneath her father's roof — there to 
sleep, to dream, over the momentous sen- 
sation of her initial crimson sin ; bold 
elopement of lad and lassie thwarting the 
stern parental protest ; tell-tale moon-beam 
betraying the lover, as he steals the good- 
night kiss from his betrothed ; tips£ seren- 
ades waking the welkin with laughter 
and song. Clang ! Clang! Clang! the fire- 
bells ! Bing ! Bing ! Bing ! the alarm ! 
In an instant quiet turns to uproar — an 
outburst of noise, excitement, clamour — 
bedlam broken loose ! Bing! Bing! Bing! 
Rattle, clash and clatter. Open fly the 
doors ; brave men mount their boxes. 
Bing! Bing! Bing! They're off! The 
horses tear down the street, like mad. 
Bing ! Bing ! Bing ! goes the gong. 

* k Get out of the track ! The engines 
are coming ! For God's sake snatch that 
child from the road ! " 

On, on, wildly, resolutely, madly 
fly the steeds. Bing ! Bing ! the gong. 
Away dash the horses on the wings of 
fevered fury. On whirls the machine, 
down streets, around corners, up this ave- 
nue and across that one, out into the very 
bowels of darkness, whiffing, wheezing, 



DA Y-D REAMS. 73 



shooting a million stars from the stack, 
paving the breath of startled night with 
a galaxy of stars. Over the house-tops to 
the north, a volcanic bulge of flame shoots 
out, belching with blinding effect. The 
sk^s ablaze. A tenement-house is burn- 
ing. Five hundred souls are in peril. 
Merciful Heaven I Spare the victims. Are 
the engines coming ? Yes, here they are, 
dashing down the street. Look! the 
horses ride upon the wind. Eyes bulging 
like balls of tire ; nostrils wide open. Can 
the animals read ? To them, there is dan- 
ger in every licking, curling tongue of 
fire. What a furnace of flame. A palpi- 
tating billow of blaze, rolling, plunging, 
bounding, rising, falling, swelling, heav- 
ing, and with mad passion bursting its 
red-hot sides asunder, reaching out its 
cephalopodic-like arms, encircling, squeez- 
ing, grabbing up, swallowing everything 
before it with the hot, greedy mouth of an 
appalling monster. 

Bless us, how the horses dash around 
the corner. Animal instinct, say you ? 
Aye, more. Brute reason. 

" Up the ladders, men ! " 

The towering building is buried in 
bloated banks of savage, biting elements. 
The forked tongues dart out and in, dodge 
here and there, up and down and wind 
their cutting edges around every object, 



74 DA Y-D REAMS. 

boring through stoutest things of resist- 
ance, piercing the remotest corners of the 
hugh pile. Then comes a crash, a dull, 
explosive sound and a puff of smoke leaps 
out. At the highest point upon thej*oof 
stands a dark figure in a desperate strait, 
the hands making frantic gestures, the 
arms swinging wildly — and then the body 
shoots oft* into frightful space, plunging 
upon the pavement with a revolting thud. 
The man's arm strikes a by-stander, as he 
darts down. The crowd shudders, sways 
and utters a low murmer of pity and hor- 
ror. The faint-hearted lookers-on hide 
their faces. One woman {enceinte) swoons 
away. A child breaks into tears. 

" Poor fellow ! Dead ! " exclaims a 
labourer, as he looks upon the man's body. 

" Aye, Joe and I knew him well, too. 
He lived next door to me, five flights 
back. He leaves a widowed mother and 
two wee bits of orphans. I helped him 
bury his wife a fortnight ago. Ah, Joe,, 
but it's hard lines for the orphans." 

A ghastly hour moves on, dragging 
its regiment of panic in its trail, and leav- 
ing crimson blotches of cruelty along the 
path of night. 

" Are they all out, firemen ? " 

" Aye, aye, sir ! " 

" No, they're not ! There's a woman 
in the top window, holding a child in her 



DAY-DREAMS. 75 



arms — over yonder in the right-hand 
corner ! The ladders, there ! A hun- 
dred pounds to the man who makes the 
rescue ! " 

A dozen start. One man more supple- 
than the others and reckless in his bravery, 
clambours to the top rung of the ladder. 

" Too short ! " he cries. " Hoist an- 
other!" 

Up it goes. He mounts to the win- 
dow, fastens the rope, lashes mother and 
babe, swings them off into ugly emptiness 
and lets them down to be rescued by his 
comrades. 

" Bravo ! Fireman ! " shouts the crowd. 

A crash breaks through the uproar of 
crackling timbers. 

44 Look alive up there ! Great God t 
The roof has fallen ! * 

The walls sway, rock and tumble in 
with a deafening roar. The spectators 
cease to breathe. The cold truth reveals 
itself. The fireman has been carried into 
the seething furnace. An old woman, 
bent with the weight of age, rushes 
through the fire-line, shrieking, raving 
and wringing her hands and opening her 
heart of grief. 

" Poor John ! He was all that I had ! 
And brave lad he was, too! But he's 
gone, now. He lost his own life in savin* 
two more and now — now he's there, away 



76 DAY-DREAMS. 



in there ! " she repeats, pointing to the 
-cruel oven. 

The engines do their work. The 
flames die out. An eerie gloom hangs 
over the ruins, like a formidable, black- 
ened pall. The polyglot mass breaks up, 
disperses, disolves. The last shriek of the 
engine's whistle expires in echo. The 
rumble of the belated, heavy cart dies 
away. The din of street-rabbles is hushed; 
the mirth of public-house gatherings 
comes to an end. Night reigns supreme, 
disturbed only by the measured leaden 
tread of the watchman on his beat. Then 
follows the deep, dread silence of night's 
after-birth ; that lifeless, sordid hour, when 
the mighty city sleeps in her awful calm. 
Again, the spell is broken by swelling mur- 
murs, stealing, creeping over the sluggish 
scene. 

Night, the sable Goddess, lifts her 
frightful head and shakes her disheveled, 
raven locks. Earth's human drudges 
stretch their legs and yawn ; the slaves of 
earthly toil steal forth ; voices rise and 
multiply upon the greyish air; new life 
springs up. The rumble of freighted carts 
is heard on the way to the market ; again, 
the coster-monger's coarse shout to his 
donkey ; the clumsy tramp of labourers ; 
the advent of shop-keepers ; the rattle of 



DA Y-D REAMS. 77 

shutters ; the straggling home of the be- 
wildered, all-night debauche. 

And then all hail ! to the birth of the 
cooling, balmy breeze; the rustle of the 
leafy trees within the parks ; the quick- 
ening of nature's pulse; the opening of 
the deep, blue eyes of rosy morn, and the 
twitter of sweet song-birds that come 
down to bathe at the city fountain's, and 
baptize the rays of the invigourating sun. 



W* 



The Outcast. 

A cold, bitter history has the outcast 
—short and dark! He hugs the cruel 
world, as the slimy snail hugs the stone. 
Like the loathsome lizard, he draws his 
hated length over the jagged^ rocks of 
time and dies there, with as little cere- 
mony as nature will allow. And then, 
along comes the grave-digger, who flings 
his body into a chilly hole in Potter's 
Field. Heap the coarse, cold clods upon 
his rough-nailed box. Set no mark above 
his resting-place. Plant no flower above 
his plebianistic mound. Even the rocks 
over which he crawled, shrink within 
themselves, as they rub against the elbows 
of his poverty-eaten memory. 



78 DAY-DREAMS. 



A Morning Storm at Sea. 

The water had stood wonderfully 
calm, all the morning. Suddenly, a 
mighty gust of wind struck our boat. 
We realized the full force of the hurri- 
cane, as its battering-rams punched our 
ribs. Quicker than I can write it, an- 
other broadsider struck us. Black clouds 
instantly blotted out the sun. The sky 
grew as dark as night. Coming up from 
the south-west, we could see a hideous 
mountain of storm rolling towards us, 
bounding at us. The dense, frowning 
clouds hung split by forks of blinding 
lightning. In a moment, the storm tow- 
ered like a wall of death before us! The 
treacherous sea reared and bucked and 
pranced like a mad monster. The winds 
raved and tore and shook the boat as if she 
were a toy, heaving her high on the crest 
of a frantic wave. Back we sank, with a 
swift and sickening lunge, into the valley 
of the waters, and the sea that had reared, 
now pounced down upon our deck and 
broke with the thunder of a million guns. 
Every ventilator was forced air-tight. 
But the efforts appeared like driving nails 
into the face of Providence. Another 
wave, almost scaling the sky, it seemed, 
washed up and fell to pieces on our deck, 
crashing through all barriers. 



DAY-DREAMS. 79 



Scarcely five minutes did the hurri- 
cane last, when off it dashed in a north- 
erly direction, permitting us to speed out 
from beneath the crook of its elbow, as 
the death-dealing monster whipped the 
foaming sea with its dreaded tail. 



&> 



-*-**Hjb XXX - 



The Deserted Nest. 

As I walked amongst the struggling 
brambles and the clinging vines and looked 
upon the poor little hay-woven home that 
the mother-bird had forsaken, something 
about it appealed to my heart as being 
most touchingly sad. 

The dingy wool-lining of the nest, 
partially disarranged, completed the soft 
cradle, where lay two lovely, blue-coated 
■eggs, whose shells were slightly cracked ; 
and peeping through them came the yel- 
low beaks of two dead birdlings, in mute 
solicitation. 

"Deserted !" I muttered. 

And the mother ? Perhaps mangled 
by the shot of a ruthless hunter; or 
Atoned to death by cruel boys : It might 
be that she had been beaten and slain by a 
king-bird of the forest-retreat. 



80 DAY-DREAMS. 



And as the winds sang their ceaseless 
lullaby in the tree-tops, my mind flew 
back to many another dismantled home, 
whose love-god had been attacked and 
routed. Of one of these firesides, I knew 
the pitiable history ! 

Two fair-haired, babbling babes hud- 
dled and sobbed in the disheveled, torn 
nest, whilst a broken-hearted husband and 
father wailed over the shattered hearth- 
stone. The love-star had set behind the un- 
compassionate night-cloud. The tempter 
had stolen into the domestic circle, lured 
the heart of the young wife and broken 
the love-anchor which held her to the 
shrine of honour, peace and home. Vir- 
tue took on the wings of blackness and 
flitted into the shadow of sorrow, to weep 
over the failure of her ministry. 

But there still remains the sagging 
gate, the untidy pathway that winds 
amongst the flower-beds, the crumbling 
cottage with its tottering fireplace, the 
ashy, heartless embers and the glossy, 
silken webs that the ugly spiders have 
spun from mantle-piece to blackened crane. 
The gossips of the homely country-village 
point to the Ponson cottage, as the 
Deserted Xest. 



^ 



m DAY-DREAMS. 81 



Pablo de Sarasate. 

Modern Paganini ! Pablo Martin Me- 
liton de Sarasate. As if it were a charmed 
and breathing instrument, and sacred, — 
the necromancer of those soul-entrancing 
notes — he grasps that miraculous bow and 
hugs his violin, fondles it upon his breast, 
caresses it, like unto a gentle child he 
loves. And as the tender winds of sum- 
mer play upon the yielding reeds and sway 
them till they sigh and sing in mellow 
cadence, so this wizard of instrumental 
song waves beneath the all-seductive spell 
of each sweet concord, rocked in the cra- 
dle of his own inspired music-soul ; a con- 
jurer of lithe, fantastic harmonies, moved 
by the gentle touch of the linger of magic 
melody. Verily, doth he woo his instru- 
ment, court it, like a lover, until the bril- 
liant strains burst forth and scatter and 
fill the air with musical meteors. 

I had heard all of the other great 
players. But when I listened to Sarasate, 
comparison left a bare glint of their grand 
eloquence. I became lost in the labyrinth 
of his genius. Such ardour of mastery. 
I felt the charm of transport. He had 
spoken to my soul, out of the inspiration 
of his own. A wordless song melted my 
heart and the tears rushed into my eyes. 



82 DAY-DREAMS. 



Non- Equality. 

I hear you declare that " all men are 
born equal ! " 

What rubbish, to be sure ! 

I deny this assertion of equality ! 
And tell me : Do you with all of the can- 
dour of honesty, expect to awake at the 
sound of Gabriel's horn and find the en- 
tire complement of humanity's unwashed 
carbuncles, sitting upon the right and up- 
on the left of you, robed in finest purple 
and linen ? 

Admitting that one so low as the 
robber upon Calvary repented, it must 
likewise be acknowledged that he pos- 
sessed a grain of noble character that won 
the confidence of One as great as the 
Prince of God. Besides, the robber was 
capable of repenting. 

There are persons who are born too 
low to rise above their surroundings. 
And when they happen to appear con- 
trite, (if ever by any chance they do), 
their repentance carries with it a pungent 
odour of sin-fusty sulphur. It is their 
business to enlist recruits for the stuffy 
realms of Pluto. 

jhhm|£-*#* 



DAY-DREAMS. 83 



Mother-of-Yinegar Natures. 

Bless us ! what a shock some persons 
receive, at the braying of charity's trum- 
pet. With the birth of the suggestion 
that they ought to do a good deed for 
some person other than themselves, their 
whole nature sours upon their stomach. 
There are, besides this class, myriads of 
persons who are born with a vinegar- 
coated caul. They inherit their acidulous 
qualities and faithfully keep them on 
dress parade, throughout the whole course 
of their lives. Sour-born parents rear 
sour-born children on a sour bottle and 
fire them out into scenes of bustle, pele- 
mele, strife for wealth, place, reputation, 
before their bow-legged bones grow hard. 
In this atmosphere of push and hurry, 
rush and worry, men read as they run. 
None stop to tie a shoe-string. It is a 
tread-mill, from birth down to the gate 
of Eternity. The method weans men from 
all notions of deliberation, consideration, 
repose. The mere suggestion of laughter 
drives them into the icy embrace of frozen 
terror, in the anticipation of laughter cost- 
ing them a moment of time. They sour 
in the constant process of shaking up; 
and, finally, by rule, evolve into typical, 
walking pickles, incessantly drinking in 
life's puckering acids. And dying, they 



84 DAY-DREAMS. 

go down to oblivion, wrapped in a shroud 
of the mother-of-vinegar. 

An Actor's Scrap-Book. 

If you are an actor, the terms, " pub- 
lic favourite " and " public patronage" will 
appeal in many ways to your heart. Look 
— the evidence of the public's past appre- 
ciation of your work, stowed away in 
your albums and scrap-books, amongst 
those time-stained casts of characters and 
in that parcel of old, mildewed play-bills : 
One of which tells of the night that you 
made your first bow to your public. 
They name, too, so many men and women, 
time-honoured, beloved associates. Yes, 
and of these, the second and third, the fifth, 
seventh, tenth and one or two others, have 
passed from death unto Life. Ah, those 
intrinsic records ! Rosy reminders of days 
long gone. But what staggering rows of 
cruel exclamation points you read betwixt 
the lines: Unimpeachable witnesses of 
your years of struggle, months of self- 
sacrifice, days, weeks of hunger. What 
wonderful truths those clipped notices 
contain, what romances, too ; what libels, 
what lies, what tell-tale marks of bare- 
faced favouritism. 



DAY-DREAMS. 85 



You remember the night that you 
made your debut, don't you ? To be sure 
j'ou do. It was the event of your life. 
Your friends felt certain that you would 
win. Others had played the role before 
and scored success. 

Would you? 

Did you ? 

Follow on a bit. The night came, 
that famous night. The house was 
•crammed. Boxes and stalls were studded 
with lovely women, society's beautiful 
charges, jeweled and diamond-bedecked. 
First-nighters, men-about-town, club-fre- 
quenters ; all of the critics were out. 

Ring in ! 

Ring up 1 

You stood in the wing, waiting for 
your cue. " There, you have it 1 Take it ! 
*Gto on, go on, I say ! The stage waits. 
The audience grows impatient ! Go on! " 
You entered and took the stage, greeted 
by the applause of the house. "Your 
line, man — speak your line ! Eh ? Can't 
remember it ? What a pity ! " 

"So-and-so, so-and-so, so-and-so," whis- 
pered the prompter. 

And still you faltered. 

" What are you waiting for ? Come 
nearer to the prompt-side. Now go on. 
Well, well ! what's the matter now ? Wing 
jour lines, man ! Stalled, eh ? Egad ! 



86 DAY-DREAMS. 



It's too bad ! You've ruined the scene 
already. The audience won't stand this 
sort of thing much longer, you know. 
Speak, I say ! " 

Speak ? Impossible ! Your lips were 
clamped with silence. You stood screwed 
to your tracks, — mute, dumb. Through 
the cloud of shimmering heat that curled 
above the footlights, you pictured a black 
and yawning gulf. In this dark hole, you 
outlined a myriad of up-turned, human 
faces, nothing more. A daze, a prostrat- 
ing daze crept over you and you dashed 
your fingers across your eyes. 

"Retire!" thundered the prompter. 
The voice startled you and you stared 
about upon all sides. The stage swam. 
You grew dizzy — but attempted to speak, 
muttering an inaudible mass of something, 
nothing anything but your lines. You: 
reeled. The very house ebbed and rocked 
before you, like the unstable billows of an 
intoxicated ocean. The audience waited 
in piteous doubt. Instinct told you that 
and to spare your patrons and yourself 
from further embarrassment, you would 
have given the world to have sunk through 
the boards. 

" Stage-fright," you heard a score of 
voices whisper in the front of the house. 

Then a wave of charity rolled up 
from the vast crowd in waiting, spreading 



DAY-DREAMS. 87 



its soothing wings over the scene. You 
felt the balm of sympathy as it fanned 
your cheeks. 

A multitude of voices cried " Cour- 
age ! " 

That word checked the paroxism of 
your fright. You felt the lessening of the 
load as it slipped from your imagination. 

Presto I the burden had gone. And 
from the dark purgatory of self, you lept 
into the light of your own free will. 

This siege of stage-fright had lasted 
thirty seconds. To you it seemed like 
thirty hours. 

You took your cue. Lines followed 
upon lines, crowding, pushing, tripping, 
tumbling over each other with rapid pace. 
The character stood before you like a boul- 
der. Inspiration goaded you. Success 
chased every effort. The scene over, the 
climax reached, loud "bravos" greeted 
you. 

You had scored. Curtain. 

A call. Hark ! A double call, by 
Jove ! 



In these modern days, when spec- 
ulators, vile amateurs, shopkeepers'-clerks, 
society swells and "star" adventuresses 
(using the stage to cover their sins), — in 
these modern days, I say, you rake the 



88 DA Y-D REAMS. 



dying embers in your grate, light your 
pipe, straighten your legs, and sit musing, 
whilst you brush the dust and tarnish 
from the bright spots of the good old long 
ago: Days when the merits of the actor 
were gauged by dint of talent ; not by 
his multitude of tailor-made suits, or the 
latest bit of her putrid scandal. 

The curling heat rises above the foot- 
lights of your fancy, like a curtain, divid- 
ing your present from your romantic past. 
You add up your years of histrionic 
triumphs and stir the grate-fire again. 
What a round of successes you enjoyed, 
to be sure ! Can it be such a long time 
ago, that you made your debut ? Aye, full 
half a century, my dear fellow. Hark ye ! 
A faint vibration of applause. Louder 
and louder it grows, as down the corridor 
of time it rolls. You catch the sound of 
the plaudits, the " bravos," the thumping 
of sticks, the clapping of muffled hands. 
You hear the uproar. You see the audi- 
ence " rise at you," as in days gone by. 
" Bravo ! Bravo ! " You listen again, 
and once more rake the grate-fire, to the 
music of the echoes of acclamation that 
shall cease only when you go on to play 
your last great role, at the ringing up of 
the curtain of Eternity, in a character Im- 
mortal, — a star amongst the stars, — and 



DA Y-D REAMS. 89 



take jour cue from the All-Ruling 
Prompter. 

Players all ! The Infinite Stage waits ! 



" "What about his private life ? " one 
person whispers, as he reads these lines 
over my shoulder. 

The player's private life ! 

Egad ! 

What is that to you ? The player's 
private life is his own private property (or, 
God's property, rather) and he has the 
same right to enjoy it that any other per- 
son has, free from interruption. 

Keep your inqaisitiveness out of the 
player's private yard, lest he may, in turn, 
-cast a stone at your window. 

Drop the curtain ! 




90 DA Y-D REAMS. 



The Storm King. 

Wake, winds, blow, 

Over the plain and the hill. 

Skip, stream, rush 

Over the wheel of the mill. 

Shake, winds, rage, 

Whip the mute race through the locks. 

Lash, stream, leap 

Over the rough jutting rocks. 

Rise, storm, swell 

Set all the natives to wonder. 

Fume, storm, roar ! 

Lock arms with lightning and thunder. 

Earth, clouds, winds 

Are willing to spur your battle. 

Howl, storm, swoop ! 

Down through the valley you rattle ! 

Lunge, storm ! Charge 

Over the forest and dell. 

Sweep, storm, burst — 

Scatter your agents of hell ! 

Rear, strike, slay ! 

March with grim death at your head I 

Hold, storm ! Fade. 

Let the dead bury the dead ! 



DAY-DREAMS. 91 



My Daisy. 



The leaves swayed softly and bent on the boughs, 

To listen, it seemed, to the time-told vows 

We'd made 'neath the tree where the rivers meet. 

The vines crept over, whilst under our feet, 

Lay the sweet clover that morning cut down ; 

Heads peeping out from the folds of her gown: 

The gown of my Daisy, my rustic queen, 

My girl -love — the bonniest lass I ween. 

In all of that land where the brambles grow. 

A beauty she was ! and I loved her so. 

As she picked the stems from the clover-bed, 

And twisted a garland of green and red. 

A twelvemonth thence, and the marriage bells rang, 
And chimed with the notes that the robin sang. 
The echoes woke in the neighbouring hills, 
And wedded the strains of the rippling rills. 
We rambled again where the rivers meet. 
The vines crept over, whilst under our feet, 
Lay the sweet clover ; and close by my side, 
Sat my queen. Daisy, my queen and my bride. 
Her voice was like music, mellow and low. 
A beauty she was ! and I loved her so, — 
As she picked the stems from the clover-bed. 
And twisted a garland of green and red. 

A month went by, when the voice of alarm 
Roused men to fun\ The cry: " Men to arms ! " 
Rang through the nation. The torches of war 
Blazed, whilst the bugle call sounded afar. 
I flung off my scabbard. My bride shed tears. 
I carried her kisses, carried her prayers. 



DAY-DREAMS. 



To fields of hot battle her missives flew: 

"Come home ! " she wrote. " Love, I'm yearning 

for you ! 
I miss you ! In God's name, why did you go ? " 
Her words burned my heart, for I loved her so, — 
And dreamed of the stems from the clover-bed 
She'd twined in our garland of green and red. 

When facing the cannon, I heard her words. 
I heard the rills ripple, and songs of birds, — 
And wished the war over. * * * Peace came 

at last, 
And healed up the wounds of war of the past. 
Then homeward I flew — to the clover-bed ; 
My Daisy ; our garland of green and red. 
I echoed her words : "I'm yearning for you ! " 
And longed to embrace her, I loved her so. 



I went to the tree where the rivers meet. 
The vines crept over, whilst under my feet, 
Lay the sweet clover, that morning cut down, — 
Piled with the daisies that dotted her mound. 

Lament of the Rose-bush. 

Nobody cares for me, now, 
A rose-bush, asleep by the wall. 
Nobody lives for me now ; 
No, nobody — no one at all ! 



DAY-DREAMS. 93 



I blossomed and blushed for a day, 
In my innocent, maiden way. 
I courted bright life, as became my right, 
Till the Love-winds, going astray one night, 
Nested and purred in my limbs till day-light, 
And plucked my lone rose-bud from me, 
Then flung me a taunt for a fee — 
And flitted off over the sea. 

But nobody's cared for me, though, 

Since the Love-winds came long ago, 

And played through my limbs, and piped on the 

And set the tongues of the gossiping weeds [reeds 

Agog with the falsehoods of my misdeeds — 

And flitted off over the sea. 

My rose bloometh not unto me, 

And nobody wants the bare tree. 



Stanley. 

No war-guns boom, with wild, saluting breath,. 
No drums of war roll out their rumbling cheer. 
No vengeful tempers greet a war-like Sheik, 
Nor even name of "Captain" bearest thou ; 
Thy mission one of prime and sweetest peace. 
But every human who can speak the tongue, 
Sends bravos to thee, bolder than the guns 
Of all the nations in report combined. 
For praise of hearts speaks louder than the mouths 
Of belching giant cannon on the hills ! 



94 DAY-DREAMS. 



Not priest, nor mission-man ; not royal born, 

A plain, but grand example of a man ; 

And though a preacher not, yet even thou 

Hast more than mighty sermons taught the world, 

By digging into that black Congo heart, 

And letting in the cheering sun of God, 

To warm the sordid souls of savage men. 

God's will hath made a man of destiny — 
Made thou that man, and clasped the arm of fate, 
The arm of gladdest fate about thy neck, 
And garbed thee with the mantle of the great ! 

Men plan, men fight, men cry for war, for peace ; 
Men carve their names upon the highest peak 
Of that strange mountain that we call renown. 
Their names cleave unto every speaking tongue. 
And when they sink to rest behind the cloud 
Of Death, who throweth his dust into their eyes, 
The public, being worshippers of men, 
Fall down and kiss the tracks they once have trod. 

But why are these called great ? What have they 

done ? 
Lo ! when we look, we read thy rising name, 
As written 'tis within the palm of One 
Who held thee in the hollow of His hand, 
And heard thee cry: " Thy will be done, O God ! " 
Years like thine are the golden links of fame, 
That bind thy past with future greater deeds. 
Mourn not for scudding years. Drink to their flight ! 



^ 



DAY-DREAMS. 95 



Edna. 

(Particularly inscribed to Jennie O. Neill Potter.) 

Where the waves touch lips, as the zephyrs blow, 
We planted our rose-bush, Edna and I. 
We sat by the water, and watched it grow, 
And clucked to the swans, as they sailed us by. 

That was in June, when the silvery lake, 
Fed by the showers, and rills, and the springs, 
Seemed of the sweetness of earth to partake, 
And whiten the white of the swans' white wings. 

We plighted our troth when our rose-bush grew, 
And Edna, with life's new joy, named the day. 
The Autumn-time came and the Winter-time flew. 
With them the light of me flitted away ! 

* * * # * •* 

The swans sail up and feed out of my hands. 
The old elm weeps, and the tide comes and goes. 
And Edna ! Sweet Edna ! Under the sands 
Sleeps, where the laving tide waters our rose. 



£& 



Pamina. 

The widow Victor's cot near Ashford Town, 

Slept on the border of a flowery dale, 

Where at the peep of dawn the red cock crowed 

In stately pride and grand solemnity, 

And bade the slothful village souls awake. 



96 DA Y-D REAMS. 



At turn of mid-day strode the warm sun in, 
And roused the dreamy hamlet in its bed : 
Then glided off behind the western hill, 
To kiss the boulders, and the chilly cloves. 

A spacious meadow spread from barn to wood ; 
A winding pathway crept down through the grass, 
All sprinkled with the dots of richest dew- 
King Morning's jewels, glistening in the sun. 

Anon, the cattle from their stanchels loosed, 
Stood lowing at the edge of forest shade, 
Where twining vines and thorny bushes grew, 
That fondly nursed the blushing, red wild rose. 
The pursy sheep came with their tinkling bells ; 
And, of a sudden breaking from the trail, 
Would ramble off to south, and through a lane 
That ran quite to a dawdling, vagrant brook, 
Where flocks and herds alike went down to drink ; 
And tended by the widow Victor's child, — 
By name, Pamina, belle of Ashford Town, 
With not her match for many leagues around. 



With birth of Easter-tide, a guest arrived ; 
A city kinsman — Mina's cousin, Tom, — 
An artist who had lit the lamp of fame, 
And won renown, until his choice repute 
Rang through the houses of the noble-great, 
Where genius finds seductive patronage, 
Whilst patrons worship at the lion's shrine. 

The sober Goddess Night had set her calm 
Upon the lazy homes of Ashford Town. 



DAY-DREAMS. 97 



The cousins, seated by the lamp's soft glow, 
Gave hard the spur to interchange of thought : 
Whilst Tom, relating tours by land and sea, 
And naming countries he had journeyed o'er 
From pole to pole, declared that in his jaunts„ 
He ne'er had spied a face as fair as hers, 
And whispered that a secret he'd to tell : 
Then pressed her hand ; but faint heart foiling him, 
He found no tongue to further press his suit, 
And like a bashful lover, quitted her. 

But when next day, at dawn, she started forth 
To drive her thirsty flock down to the brook, 
She glanced behind — and Tom ran after her. 

Come to the stream, she drove her flock knee-deep. 
And sat upon the bank to watch them drink. 
Tom knelt beside her, with new birth of grace ; 
And whilst the nervous runnel gurgled past, 
He cast his hidden secret from his breast, — 
Told her his tale of love in fervid tones, 
And, all enraptured, pressed her to his heart. 

Her great, black, melting eyes rode out on his ; 
And overcome with flushed embarrassment 
That drives confusion to the girlish cheek, 
And shakes her with a slight, hysteric force, 
She burrowed in his breast and sobbed aloud. 
And when the crimson tinge had died away, 
She raised her pretty face, and dried her eyes. 
Nor could she quit him, e'en how hard she tried, 
But thrilled with maiden's quickest passion-throb, 
She answered Tom's embrace with clinging flame, 



DA Y-D REAMS. 



And kissed him with her hot lips on his own ! 
And then! * * * * * * 



The red thrush hid his mate beneath his wing. 

The wailing willows chanted plaintively. 

The flowers on the banks hung down their heads, 

And, blushing, gave the signal not to speak. 

The bells of conscience tolled a bitter dirge. 

A modest silence clutched the warm spring winds 

As nature bowed her head upon her breast, 

In judgment brooding o'er the tangled spell ! 



Upon the Christmas Eve, a twelvemonth thence, 
And in the house of one of social fame, 
The cheering city lamps blazed brilliantly, 
And shed their glare upon the merry guests, — 
All mindless of the raging storm without, — 
And thoughtless of the homeless, aching hearts 
That plodded through the streets and, shelterless, 
That envied e'en the street-lamp's sickly warmth : 
Nor spied they on the chill, frost-bitten steps, 
A feeble, wan and God-forsaken form 
There peering through the window, on the guests, 
A woman, bearing beauty's traces rare, 
But now so wasted ! And the glinting light 
That bared the cruel ravage of distress, 
Crept back, as if through sense of charity, 
And left the sad face in the gloom of night. 
Thus, as she bent to see, yet be not seen, 
She fell upon her halting, stark-bare knees, 



DAY-DREAMS. 99 



The bleak winds playing through her nakedness : 
And linking tight her cold, transparent hands, 
She fixed her eyes on God and prayed aloud. 

A guest came gayly out and hurried by. 

A gleam of light revealed his handsome face. 

" Tom ! Tom ! for God's sake pity ! " cried the girl. 
He turned, in abject terror at her voice. 
" I have no faith in love that veers ! " she cried, 
''And like the fickle vane a breath doth move ! 
Have I been but your toy these empty years ? 
Quick, man ! For God's sake, speak ! Tell me 
the truth!" 

Hate's cold discourtesy his sole reply, 
He bade her not so much as live, or die. 
And as he strove to free himself from her 
Whose loathing lashed itself into a flood, 
And swallowed up her girlish love of years, 
She rose and fell, and died within his arms ! 

A vine-clad pillar marks Pamina's mound. 
Her mother sleeps beside her — gone before, — 
And knew no word of her frail, tattered life. 
Yet others learned the truth. Show pity, they ? 
Would human creatures all were human kind ! 
For thy condolence seek thou 'neath the sod, 
Where tangled ills once born, are hid from view. 
To those whose gossip rusts the silken wing, 
A woman's fall from grace is heard by God ! 



H^fc 



100 DAY-DREAMS. 



Till Min Kara Mia. 

Down my life-path came a daughter, 
Child from land of Midnight Sun. 
Near the verge of Baltic water, 
Norse and Saxon met as one. 

How we prized our happy childhood ! 
Oft I kissed thy silken hair, 
As we scampered through the wildwood,. 
Hand-in-hand. All love is fair. 

Years have gone, yet love reposes 
In our hearts as did of old: 
Thine, still sweet as June's new roses;. 
Thine is maiden. Mine is bold. 

Go on romping through the flowers. 
Dance down through the valley wild. 
Live once more those rosy hours, 
Kara Mia, Sweden's child ! 

3HHHS ~XX"X 

Looe at Sight. 

How could we help it ? 

I looked in her eyes, 

And she looked in mine. 

And then, as the shaggy oak stands for the vine 

To creep up, and nestle, and softly entwine 

Herself round his great limbs, his trunk to bedeck, 

So clung she around me, 



DAY-DREAMS. 101 

And kissed my rough brow, 
And hung on my neck. 
I feel her lips now. 
I kissed her sweet hair, 
As she raised her head. 
Such eyes ! Black with fire. 

"It was love at first sight ! 
Was it not, Love ? " she said. 



My Lost Gipsy. 

"When last we parted, love, whither did'st go ? 
I've still the lock of hair given by thee. 
Art thou now hidden deep under the snow ? 
No ? Where, then, buried love, hidden from me ? 

Under the sea, 
Where never soul 
Ventures to thee ? 
Not under snow ? 
Not undersea? 
Where did'st thou go ? 
Where can'st thou be ? 
Where huried thou ? 
Send me thy heart — 
At least in part — 
That I may know- 
It is thy heart, 
And I will go 
Straightway to thee. 



102 DA Y-D REAMS. 



If not under snow, and not under sea, 
Where, then, my love-heart, where did'st thou flee? 
Why thus did we part ? Why came grief to me ? 
Who came betwixt us ? Why must woe be ? 
Fly home, lost Gipsy ! I'm waiting for thee. 



•)£ 



Bare Infatuation. , 

There is bliss in sweet love-making. 
There's a heaven in the word; 
But in this grand undertaking, 
Has the thought to you occurred, 
That the longed-for answer, "Yes," 
May betoken wretchedness : 
Clamp your heart as in a vise, 
Wring it once and wring it twice, 
Tie its tender chords in knots, 
Dry its hot blood into clots, 
Make it quiver, make it quake, 
Make it swell with tears, and break ? 

In this world of mad love-making, . . 
Has the thought occurred to you, 
That two hearts may go on quaking 
Till one heart is made of two ? 
That the love-star, Inspiration, 
Lights a Paradise begun ? 
Whilst a bare infatuation 
Is a hell without a sun ! 



DA Y-D REAMS. 103 

Not Age— Not Death. 

He's dead, say you ? And pray you what is death ? 
I've lived these years, nor yet the monster know. 
He must, forsooth, have been a shrunken man, 
One wrinkled to a puny, withered state, 
To fade and die; for great souls perish not. 

And age ? Fie, fie ! I know me not that word. 

To me all noble men are ever young, 

Whose deeds perpetuate eternal youth. 

What simple folly, then, when naming men, 

To say, " He died," or, " This one bent his head 

In weakness, 'neath the load of creeping age? " 

A truce ! There are no banes like age, and death. 

Youth is eternal ! Whilst the going out 

From mundane sphere — the process misnamed 

death — 
Is but the fleeing to the star-gemmed realm 
Of one more bright, earth-fettered, yearning soul, 
To an eternal, free and scented field. 
'Tis but the passing to a Higher Life. 

.— i V V V JJC _ Y V V ■ 

Deluge of Conemaugh. 

Jaws of the Death-devil yawned at wide gauge ! 
Freed from his holdings, with fury of beast 
The Conemaugh leapt in torrents of rage, 
Bent for the carnage-field ! Hot for the feast. 



104 DAY-DREAMS. 



Pestering, teasing and swelling the tide, 
Roaring and thundering out the death-knell, 
Raving and bounding from side unto side, 
Crushing each building as if but a shell, 
Razing the valley for vast acres wide, 
Sweeping the town into chaotic hell ! 

No time for good-byes, or fond caresses. 
No time for the lover's hot, clinging kiss. 
Time to cry only, " For God's sake save us I " 
Down they went — into the foaming abyss ! 

Strong men weeping. Faint women wailing. 
Crazed women wildly dancing, singing. 
In the vortex thousands are sailing ! 
Hard to the straws of wet death clinging ! 
Hark ! The voices of victims ringing ! 

Up the tide tosses them like a mad bull ! 
See ! The river with martyrs is full ! 
They shriek and they clutch at the empty air, 
And cry for loved ones in lost despair ! 

When came the deluge 
Who were found ready ? 
How were they living? 
What were they doing ? 
Were they forgiving ? 
What were they saying ? 
Were any sinning ? 
Were any praying ? 

How many dead ? And how many passed through ? 
Read the short roll of the sad, living few, 



DA Y-D REAMS. 105 



Who drag the marsh for the slumbering ranks 
That the torrent drowned by his fiendish pranks, 
And heaving them up by furious throes, 
Left them there, bleaching, in long, ghastly rows. 

The green hills that tower and kiss the blue sky, 
All wept as they looked on the carnage below, 
Their tears trickled into the cool, crystal rills 
That feed the sweet waters of Lake Conemaugh. 

Those stricken homes ! Pity them ! Fate had her 

sway. 
An army of souls blotted out in a day ! 
Grand, growing city ! So peaceful, so proud ! 
God ! How she wept 'neath her watery shroud ! 

Dense is the pall o'er the tear-wetted dale. 
Fate grew ashamed, as the living waxed pale. 
Night, the swart goddess drew down the black veil ! 

Blanched the sore sacrifice ! Frightful the end ! 
Bow to the scene of the tragedy's birth. 
Strewn are the sands with the thousands of dead ! 
Proud city ! Swept from the face of the earth ! 



*)& 



106 DAY-DREAMS. 



Jefferson Dams. 



(a northern tribute). 



Ye men ! Behold this man ! Pay homage due 
To one who fought for principles he loved ! 
Spread wreaths of green upon his catafalque, 
And e'er ye journey to his tomb of rest, 
Knell ye the bells in tenderest respect. 

Let drums be clad with muffling garb, as march 
In solemn phalanx to the sepulcher, 
The lines of men abreast with heads bowed down- 
And treading to the slow notes of the dirge, 
That set the swaying pines to swinging low, 
As in their limbs they catch the plaintive wail 
Of those who mourn the passing of a friend, 
And echo their sad pibroch through the land. 

A proud, defiant tree of tropic soil, 

Who bravely scored on Buena Vista's field, 

And won his spurs as there became the brave. 

A soldier to the soul, of courage rare, 

Who fought and plunged into the battle's mouth,. 

And won the stars that decorated him ; 

Baptised his heart with fire in the siege ! 

We, North, may differ with the chieftain's course, 

And fight the issue till the sabre bends, 

And glows and scintillates with sparks of hate. 

And whilst our causes clashed and left deep pangs ■ 

Of sorrow in our hearts for loved ones lost, 

We must forget the past. The chieftain's gone, 



DAY-DREAMS. 107 



Whom we opposed. Factional hate is dead ! 

And his, a soldier's burial shall be, 

With guns and caissons lending solemn aid, 

To lull the soul into a soldier's rest. 

So let the mighty chieftain sleep in peace ! 

A nation lifts her hat in courtesy : 

The hands of wives and daughters weave the 

wreaths, 
And sons of North and South bedeck the tomb 
Where sleeps the leader of the Southern cause, 
And plant the branch of love upon his mound, 
From whence shall spring forth naught but vines of 

peace, 
And knit the souls of brothers closer kin, 
Till there's no North, no South, no East, no West, 
But one vast plain of common charity, 
Whose sweetest cadence wafted o'er the land, 
Shall dull all hate and tune the strings of hearts 
And play upon them softening songs of love. 
And nature, touching thus our hearts, makes kin, 
In this memoriam to the passing chief! 

New York, ii Dec, 1889. 




108 DA Y- DREAMS. 



Entre Nous. 



Silver door-plates are ofttimes the lids 
of misery. 



Poverty stows her victims in garrets 
at nightfall, that they may sleep nearer to 
God. 



Possibly you are well able to draw 
your cheque for one, three, five, twenty 
millions. 

That is to-day. 

You are the Croesus. 

I am the pauper. 

To-morrow, you die. 

You are the pauper — a consummate 
beggar, emploring Mother Earth to afford 
your mouldering tenement a cave in which 
to hide from the ravage of time and the 
jackals. 

I am the Croesus, because I still hold 
the lease upon life. 

Our cases have been reversed — that is 
all. But you would willingly exchange 
places with me to-morrow, I'll be bound. 



DAY-DREAMS. 109 



Be proud — as proud as Lucifer ! For 
in the wealth of your pride, lies your am- 
bition to attain to a loftier, a nobler, a 
grander personality. As you walk abreast 
with the surging crowd, cast a bold glance 
backward and ascertain if another and 
higher wave of pride is sweeping down 
upon you. If you spy one, rise to the oc- 
casion by keeping your personality to the 
fore. Impress every person whom you 
meet with the intense richness of your in- 
dividuality and character. 



Be not in too great a hurry to get on 
through life. Life is an accommodation 
train, and will wait for you. I do not 
mean that you shall cast your mantle of 
ambition to the sloth, but season your life 
with the dignity of repose. Do not rush. 
God will give you time to accomplish all 
things. So will the number of your days 
increase, by virtue of the laxity of your 
pace through life ; and, as to the lengthen- 
ing of your span of years, so shall be your 
power to complete your every task. 



The law without a penalty is worse 
than bare advice ; it is a prize upon crime, 
for the reason that it merely arrests, and 



110 DAY-DREAMS. 



permits the culprit to mock in the face of 
justice. It is a living lie, because it fails 
to keep its compact and crush out exist- 
ing evils. 

Ask not "where was the man born ? " 
but " where and how did he die ? " 



Some men begin life with an interro- 
gation point ; and after death, it is used 
-as a head-stone for their graves ! 



A beautiful tot of a child, blue-eyed, 
with locks like the corn-silks, placed her 
soft, pure hand in mine, looked child- 
wisely into my face, and handed me a 
blade of grass that she had picked from, 
the turf. 

" Tan 'oo make one like 'at ? " she 
asked. 

"No, my darling, I cannot," I re- 
plied. 

M Zen 'oo aint as bid as Dod, is 'oo ? " 

I wondered if any man bent upon 
blotting out all of the credit due to the 
Omnipotent for the existing universe, had 
-ever met with a more convincing bit of 
argument as to his own utter littleness, 



DA Y-D REAMS. Ill 



when compared with the Power that 
creates ? 



Mind is not life. The soul is the 
life from God. Thought is the child of 
the mind, an agent inferior to the soul ; 
which in turn, is a live jewel in the hand 
of God. The soul, after passing from this 
earthy death to the higher life, has a mind 
of its own. It re-echoes that which the 
mind conceives. The soul sings, the mind 
prattles. The soul is poetry, the mind is 
prose. "Whilst the pure mind is ideal (by 
that expression I mean perfect), the soul 
is immortal ; — likewise is the soul-mind, 
— with God over all, and independent. 




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